Two Worlds and In Between
by Minerva McTabby
Summary: A saga of the Potterverse in the 19th Century. Opens at Hogwarts in 1855, with the Dumbledore brothers and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle. Pre-HBP AU. Muggle-born Dumbledores. No Gaunts.
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Two Worlds and In Between (1/?)   
**Author name:** Minerva McTabby   
**Author email:** minervamctabby@yahoo.com.au   
**Category:** Drama, Action/Adventure, Romance   
**Keywords:** Slytherin, history, Dumbledore, Marvolo, Riddle   
**Rating:** PG-13 for now, may change to R later   
**Spoilers:** all the books   
**Summary:** The 19th Century history of the Potterverse: a saga with adventure, angst, romance (het and slash), ethical dilemmas, drama, betrayal, war, and lots of magic. Opens in 1855, at Hogwarts with the Dumbledore brothers - and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle.   
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The title is a line from _Lucretia, My Reflection_ - a song by the Sisters of Mercy. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author's note:** Don't look at me, I'm writing under Imperius. He's the OC from hell. He's Voldie's grandpa. 

**Two Worlds and In Between**   
by Minerva McTabby 

_In the time before the first Rising of the Dark,  
before the invention of the Killing Curse,   
the wizarding world had been at peace for centuries.   
The boundaries between Dark and Light were less   
distinct than they had been before and would be again.   
Power lay with the wizarding aristocracy, the great families,   
absorbed in their never-ending, lethal game of status.   
They had no wish to look beyond that, to the changes   
history had wrought around them. Their world was ordered   
precisely as they liked it - and most of them still believed   
it would remain that way forever...  
_

**Part One: STATUS**  
Julius Marvolo  
1855 

**Chapter One**

Fortune smiled on me when Albus Dumbledore's brother was Sorted into Slytherin. As he walked over to take his seat with us for the first time - to groans from the Gryffindors and silent horror among the Slytherins - I was already considering how this situation might best be turned to my advantage. 

I glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where my cousin Valery sat directly opposite Dumbledore. The elder brother was calmly watching the next student under the Hat. 

From the head of our table - the place I had held for a year now, against all challengers - it was hard to see anything of the new boy other than his fair hair. I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms over the anticipation building within me. Dumbledore's brother. Now a paradox: a Mudblood in Slytherin. Success in the game of status required one to be alert for opportunities. 

I knew exactly what I was going to do. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Great Hall hummed with that peculiar intensity generated whenever a large number of wizards are all concentrating on the same thing. Every boy present - and probably every Master - was thinking of his own time under the Sorting Hat. 

I was no exception. Four years earlier, the Hat had taken a disturbingly long time to Sort me. I could remember each agonizing moment, every word the Hat said as I grappled with the shock of imagining that I might _not_ find myself in Slytherin House. 

_ "What have we here? Another young Marvolo... I grow weary of   
placing all of you in Slytherin... Time for a change, perhaps?   
You could do well in any House... you're a worker, and loyal...   
a fine mind, yes, and courage to spare... what to do with you?"   
_

I would not beg. 

Quiet chuckle. "Not rising to the bait, I see. Well, what do you want, boy?" 

"I want to be the best." No dissembling possible here. 

"Ah, indeed... And what would you be prepared to do for that?" 

"Anything." I wasn't speaking as a child. Even then,   
I knew the implications; and I meant what I said. 

The Hat certainly understood. "Well, the best of luck, boy -   
you'll be doing it in SLYTHERIN!" 

"...GRYFFINDOR!" 

A new round of cheers brought me back to the present, and I turned to the Gryffindor table once more. There was something I wanted from Dumbledore. Had wanted it for a long time, had run through every available measure of influence with no effect. I'd had nothing to bargain with; there was nothing he wanted from me. Now, at last, that would change. Measure of influence: extortion. 

Lucan Valery caught my eye and nodded at the Ravenclaw table - where Carus Tamino was glaring at me. I blew him a kiss. He could guess what I was thinking, of course. Sweet, clever Tamino... He'd have a few words to say about it as soon as we got out of here. 

I watched the rest of the Sorting in silence, my thoughts racing ahead, barely hearing the commentary provided by Aulus Belcore on my right, though he was being even more obscene than usual about how to recognize a Hufflepuff. Finally, it was over. Eight - no, _nine_ new Slytherins. One could only hope the other eight would be assets to the House; and since I was now the fifth-year prefect it would be partly my task to see that they were. 

I was already sure the ninth would be an asset to me. 

"And what are you plotting now, Julius?" Belcore, my status partner, sounded idly curious but more intent on the feast. He and I had been a status pair for the past four years, a natural extension of the formal alliance between our families. As we piled our plates with food from the silver platters appearing before us, my eyes strayed down to the foot of our table, then back to the Gryffindors. 

"Just a little well-aimed mischief involving an elf and two wands." 

Aulus Belcore's sharp hazel eyes met mine, and a knowing smile spread over his round, freckled face. He reached into his robes, then passed a goblet to me. 

"Drink up," he said softly. "A toast to the luckiest little new boy in the dungeons." 

"Ah, but don't we make our own luck around here?" The absinthe burned my throat. As usual, he had Charmed it to look like pumpkin juice. "And yet, one has to admit... sometimes Fortune is unexpectedly kind." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Malfoy. A word, if you can spare me a moment." 

Claudius Malfoy was the seventh-year prefect, a tall pale boy with a haughty manner. Eldest son of the family ranked second in the greater game - of course, I had never permitted him to forget which family ranked _first_. No challenge, this one. The Valery heir, who had completed Hogwarts the previous year, was far more powerful; the Delacroix heir, also in seventh year, was far more dangerous. I'd been generous enough, training with Malfoy on combat tactics some months ago; he had done well in his Dark Arts examination, and it had also served to confirm that angering me would be unwise. He would be civil to me now, and accommodating. Hogwarts did have its official marks of recognition, such as a prefect's position; but within Slytherin House the game would always take precedence over such formalities. 

We moved away from the table, stopping in the shadows, out of earshot. 

"Well, what is it?" 

"A trifling matter. I do believe that as a prefect, I'm to have an elf this year. And I've just happened to see the elf I want. Would you be good enough to...?" 

He raised an eyebrow at that. "The Mudblood? You're obsessed, Marvolo." 

"Not at all," I said smoothly, giving him the same smile he'd seen the first time I hit him with Imperius. "I merely believe in taking full advantage of enticing coincidences. And after all, elving is a fine old Hogwarts tradition, is it not?" 

"Very well. He's yours. I'll write it up." Malfoy turned away, a shade too quickly. "Now, if you'll forgive me, I do have to escort the first-years..." 

Around us the tables were beginning to empty as the feast drew to a close. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aulus Belcore and I left the Hall together, and Carus Tamino caught up with us in the doorway of the Central common room. 

"I know that look - you're not thinking of - _gods_, Julius -" 

I slid an arm around his waist and steered him quickly across Central, to our usual territory. Belcore followed, laughing helplessly. I took the center of the window-seat, with a good view of the whole room, and they settled on either side of me; Lucan Valery arrived a moment later and flung himself down on the floor in front of us, breathing hard. For a moment we were all silent, taking simple pleasure in being here once more, after a summer spent mostly apart. 

Then all three of them turned to me and spoke at once: "Julius, what - " 

I drew my wand and sent some colored lights flying at their heads: green dancing around Belcore's red hair, blue around Tamino's soft brown curls, and bright scarlet circling Valery's long dark mane. Charming effect - and very annoying. 

"Too late, Carus. He's already spoken to Malfoy." Aulus Belcore swatted at a green sparkle. 

"Oh, _gods_." Carus Tamino was the very picture of high-minded Ravenclaw outrage. "Julius, leave that poor child alone! Won't he have enough problems?" 

I snorted. "Something of an understatement. Aulus, do you think he might have - ah - _problems?" _

"A Mudblood in the Snake-Pit?" Belcore shrugged and spread out his hands, looking across at Tamino. "He's doomed. No family, no alliances, no skills, no status. They'll tear him apart down there. He'll be gone within a week, a month at most." 

"Precisely." I twirled my wand slowly through the air, drawing rainbows. "So what's wrong with putting him to good use, in the brief time he's with us?" 

Lucan Valery had made himself comfortable, sprawled out on the worn rug, playing with the hem of Tamino's robes. Now he was nodding slowly, considering. "Useful enough to get you that duel - at long last. Preferably soon. We're growing old waiting for this." 

"So what did Dumbledore say when the Hat spoke?" I had to admit I was curious. 

"Something about lemon drops. Honestly, Julius, he didn't say anything much - you know what he's like - he didn't even seem shocked - " 

"He must have been the only person in the Hall who wasn't," said Belcore. "Albus Dumbledore's brother, a proper little Slytherin... Wonder who got the Hat drunk today?" He burst out laughing again, setting off the rest of us. 

"So you've made him your elf." Tamino sobered quickly, giving me a grave look. "Why _this_, Julius? I don't pretend to understand the ways of your House... but this is cruel to the boy. You could protect him..." 

"I could indeed. For a while. _If_ his big brother finally consents to face me with a drawn wand, right here in this room. Otherwise..." There must have been something too feral, too much of the game, in my smile; Tamino turned away, tight-lipped. "Carus, light of my life - don't look like that - it's perfect! And I'm the only one who can do it." 

"True enough," said Belcore. "Julius leads in the game. The House would listen to no other. A few words, a few favors - and the Mudblood may have a far easier time of it, until his inevitable departure - " 

"Or his life in Slytherin House could be much, _much_ more distressing than need be," I added softly. Tamino shuddered. 

"Distract him!" I mouthed to Valery. 

Valery grinned, darting a hand up Tamino's leg under his robes. I sent a cloud of pink bubbles wafting around the tickling match that followed - ending with both of them on the floor, Tamino nestled in the curve of Valery's arm and looking much better. 

"Actually, you could make his life miserable enough all by yourself," said Belcore. "Part of the elving tradition. I still remember that chap I elved for in first year - mad on Potions - ugh, the things I had to cut up and stir for him..." 

"Mine was the Quidditch captain," added Tamino. "Kept waking me up at mad hours to get him ready for morning practice. I never wanted to see a broom again, ever." 

Valery looked nostalgic. "Mine was nice. Great help with Transfiguration exercises. And yours, Julius - what was that disgusting trick he showed you - " 

"Crucio on a Flobberworm. Apart from that, all I had to do was bring him mead and send off owls. Boring, really." I paused, thoughts racing ahead again, while my wand continued its patterns. Green bubbles. Purple stars. "You'll spread the word around Gryffindor?" 

Valery's amused dark eyes met mine. "Dumbledore Minor, first-year Slytherin - property of Julius Marvolo!" His smile widened. "But of course... Lucretia would kill me if I didn't help with this... And I want to see the look on Dumbledore's face as much as you do - well, maybe not quite as much - I'm not the one mad to duel him - " 

"Gryffindor duels. Child's play." Teasing him now, as I had since our first year. "No, no, you can't do _that!_ And _that's_ against the rules too! And that's _so_ dishonorable!" Punctuating my words with bursts of black sparkles. "Ladylike swoons all around at the very mention of Cruciatus! Come down to the Snake-Pit some day, Lucan - let us show you how it's done - " 

Tamino intervened before Valery could attempt to drag me down onto the floor as well. "Julius - I won't say I like it, but you've clearly made up your mind about this, so..." He looked at me with those winter-grey eyes that saw so much further than anyone else. "What will this mean for you? If you step in to protect a Muggle-born, won't that do something to your own status? Be careful, Julius - " 

"You worry about me too much..." Only Tamino ever talked to me like this. "I'm hardly making him a status partner, after all. Since when does an elf's status - or lack of it - affect that of his elf-master? And my position is safe enough." I exchanged a glance with Aulus Belcore. Carus Tamino was too squeamish for the finer details of life in the dungeons; Lucan Valery, a younger son, enjoyed the tales but was free to indulge his preference for Quidditch over the game of status. Belcore alone could truly appreciate what I had gone through to secure that seat at the head of the Slytherin table. He was also his family's heir. 

"They'll understand this," he was saying now. "The House will know Julius is only doing it to force Dumbledore into dueling. Measure of influence - extortion, right? And it's only for a short while, after all. No threat to his own status. Rather the opposite, if he _does_ manage to get that duel... The Slytherins have been waiting for the great event as long as anyone else!" Belcore broke off to dodge the serpentine green ribbons I was casting at him. 

"Gods, I hope this works," said Valery. "I've lost count of the plots we've hatched to get him to duel." 

Belcore smiled. "I don't see how it can fail. We should start the real wagers now - the duel of the year - ten Galleons says you'll have his wand, Julius!" He looked around the room cautiously - no Masters, and I was the only prefect there - before reaching into his robes for a flask and four small cups. Belcore's absinthe trade was his passion, and very lucrative; he supplied the whole school. 

The four of us together again, on our window-seat here in Central... That was certainly worth a toast. Then we toasted the plan, Dumbledore Minor, the Sorting Hat, Lucretia, and each other - several times. Eventually, very late, Tamino and Valery wandered off together - to recite Muggle poetry at each other by the lake, or whatever Ravenclaws and Gryffindors do when they're in love - while Belcore and I headed back to the Slytherin dungeons. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

That night I lay awake for some time, thinking. It felt good to return to Hogwarts for another year. It felt even better to know that a wish was about to come true, thanks to Fortune and the Hat. 

I wanted to duel Dumbledore. Oh, how I wanted it! To wipe that smug smile off his face with a choice selection of curses, see what he could send against me, finally measure my strength against his and get an _answer. _

The problem was that he didn't duel. Ever. In Dark Arts classes, we all dueled - learning to throw and block every spell we could, as well as a number of other diverting and destructive tricks. But Dumbledore, being a Mudblood, wasn't taking Dark Arts; he'd signed up for Alchemy instead, from our third year onwards. And he had never been known to duel out of class. Not even within Gryffindor, for sport. 

Of course, it didn't help that I'd been trying to provoke him into dueling for the better part of four years, and all of Hogwarts knew it, and yes, there were even bets going around on the outcome of this entirely hypothetical Marvolo-Dumbledore duel. 

He always declined - mildly, indifferently, insufferably. With the obvious implication that it would be quite unsporting for _him_ to duel any other student. Meanwhile, here I was, the best duelist at Hogwarts... or only the second-best? 

I had to know. I just had to. Besides, my status within Slytherin would be significantly enhanced by clear proof that _no one_ in the school could take my wand. And yet he always, always declined. 

But now... yes, Belcore hadn't exaggerated. I was the only one in Slytherin House with the power to protect a newly-Sorted Mudblood, even temporarily. And once I had made that clear, in the right terms of persuasion... then I'd have my duel, faster than anyone could say _Expelliarmus_. 

On that thought, I slept. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next morning I awoke to pounding on my door and the voice of Rosier, the sixth-year prefect. For one sleep-fogged moment my only thought was that my grandsire had killed his great-grandsire, in 1723 - and now this fool was taking revenge by waking me from a perfectly good dream. Something about Transfiguration and the Sorting Hat... 

"Marvolo! Trouble with the first-years - come on!" 

"It's their second day here, how much trouble could there be?" But I had already reached for my wand and said a Dressing Charm, and we were running for the first-year dormitory. 

A crowd had gathered, but it was behaving strangely: while those at the back pushed for a closer look through the doorway, those at the front were trying to retreat. In the corridor Malfoy was hovering over a group of screaming first-years, who seemed to find the sight of him far from reassuring. 

To my relief, Professor Lott was the next to arrive. He quickly pushed his way through to the dormitory threshold - and stopped cold. I had seldom seen our Head of House and Dark Arts Master look so surprised. When I reached the door myself, I understood why. 

The walls, the floor, the beds, and all other surfaces were covered in spiders. 

I could hear a faint rustling as countless thousands of tiny bodies shifted, crawling over and around each other, a shimmering living carpet of brown and white and black. The air crackled with the afterflash of strong magic. 

The spiders covered the whole room, except for a small patch of stone at the very center - where a boy stood alone, a boy with one black eye and a sleeve half-ripped from his robe. His face was white with shock, even in the candlelight; he clutched his wand in both hands, knuckles straining as if he were trying to break it. No need to guess who this might be. The hair was yellow, not auburn, but the long nose and those pale blue eyes could belong to only one person's brother. 

"Finite Incantatem." Lott's voice was low and hoarse. For a long moment, nothing happened - then, very slowly, the spiders began to fade. Those of us in the doorway watched in silence as they vanished. 

Professor Lott spoke over his shoulder. "Mr. Malfoy, bring the other first-year boys back into their dormitory. Mr. Rosier, Mr. Marvolo, remain here. Everyone else, kindly go about your business - _now_." 

Voices behind us, growing fainter as the Slytherins outside dispersed. Candles flickering. Still a trace of the spell in the air, making my bones hum. Muttering from the other first-years as they trooped back into the room and faced the lone boy, glaring. Some of their faces and robes also bore signs of conflict. 

Eight against one. Ahh. From eight very fine old families, of course. 

"First-year class of Slytherin House. Look at me, all of you. What, may I ask, is the meaning of this?" 

The eight all broke out at once, their voices rising over each other. 

"Sir, it was Dumbledore Minor - " 

"Sir, he _bit_ me - " 

"And he punched me - " 

"Cowardly, filthy _Mudblood_ - " 

"That's enough!" Lott's hard dark eyes swept them into silence. "Well, Mr. Dumbledore, have you nothing to say for yourself?" 

The boy just stared at Lott, sullen and mute, not sparing a glance for the rest of us in the room. 

"We have no time for this now," said Lott coldly. "All of you have to be in the Great Hall, and you cannot possibly be late for your first class. I will only say that this is a disgraceful start to your time at Hogwarts. Common physical brawling is unworthy of Slytherin House. And by this evening, I will know exactly what else happened here." He turned to the door. "I shall now escort you to breakfast. Mr. Malfoy, if you could take charge of Dumbledore Minor - " 

Malfoy. Oh gods, I knew what he'd say before he spoke. 

"Sir, this boy is Marvolo's elf. Wouldn't it be more appropriate - " 

"Indeed it would, if that is the case. After all, you have taken pains never to become involved in anything... _unusual_... haven't you, Mr. Malfoy?" 

Sometimes I truly admired Lott. He had a way with words that was positively feline. After delivering this magnificent scratch at both Malfoy and myself, he ordered me to get the boy cleaned up and deliver him to his first class. Behind that I heard another command, unspoken but unmistakable: _Get the story out of him_. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Belcore was waiting in the corridor. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of me with my wand drawn and a firm grip on the shoulder of Dumbledore Minor. 

"In need of assistance, Julius?" 

"No," I snapped. "Go on to breakfast. I'll see you in Potions." 

I led the boy into my own chamber, locking the door behind us and adding a Silencing Charm to my usual door-wards. This conversation would be quite unpredictable enough, even without the risk of eavesdroppers. When I looked around, he was standing by the bookshelves with his back to me. Oh, _splendid_. 

Where to start? Maybe I should explain to the little Mudblood what Slytherin House generally thought of Mudbloods... or that none of his kind had been Sorted into Slytherin for at least two decades. Under any other circumstances, I would not have considered the behavior of his eight pureblood year-mates to merit a reprimand; in truth, they were only being Slytherins. But now we had a Mudblood Slytherin - whose responses apparently included biting, and casting unprecedented spells - oh _gods_, this was Dumbledore's brother, I should have anticipated something like this... what else might he be able to do? And whatever was I supposed to do with him? 

However, first things first. I'd been told to clean him up, and he certainly needed it. 

"Here, let's have a look at that eye - " 

He wrenched away. "Sod off and leave me alone!" 

"Oh, I _do_ beg your pardon. We haven't even been properly introduced." He glanced at me curiously - good, I had his attention. "My name is Julius Marvolo. I'm the fifth-year prefect. Also the dueling champion and Dark Arts champion. Popularly known as the most dangerous student in Slytherin." Before he could blink, my wand was pointing straight at his head. "And I don't care how many spiders you can conjure - you do _not_ talk to me like that. Understood?" 

The look on his face took me perilously close to the edge of laughter. 

"Now I'm going to Heal your eye. Hold still, or I'll hex you as well. You won't like it." 

As I passed my wand over his black eye and other scrapes, rattling off some Healing charms, I silently cursed my own clever ideas from the evening before. I didn't want this hostile brat as my elf. Not even a duel with his brother could be worth the potential trouble I sensed swirling around this situation. I wanted nothing to do with him - yet now I was stuck with him, spiders and all. Suddenly I wished very much that Carus Tamino could be here - or perhaps Lucretia. Now, should I keep threatening him, or...? 

Oh, confound it - a _Mudblood Slytherin_ - the very idea was ludicrous. He'd be gone in a week, maybe less, and that would be the end of the story. 

A quick Mending Charm on the sleeve, and the _clean him up_ part of my task was done. I stepped back, looking him up and down critically. "You know, apart from the hair, it's extraordinary how much you look like your brother - at least, as I remember him from first year - " 

He turned on me with a fury that completely took me aback. "Don't talk about him! I _hate_ him! This is all his fault. I never want to see him again - I asked the Hat to put me anywhere but Gryffindor - " Gods, the brat was waving his wand at me! "Just don't talk about him, _ever_ - " 

"Expelliarmus!" His wand flew into my hand; he stumbled back and fell silent, astonished. "_Fine._ We won't discuss your brother. That suits me well." I took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye. "So here you are - _not_ in Gryffindor - and, as you may have realized, you're in trouble. Now, I'm a prefect, and I have some influence within this House, and what's more, you're my elf. I can help you - but you're going to have to talk to me. Will you do that?" 

He nodded slowly; still staring at me warily, eyes narrowed. 

"Good. Let's start with the obvious. What in Hades happened this morning - and what spell did you use for those spiders?" 

"I'm... not sure. I didn't know it was a spell. I think the word was _Arachniomnius_." 

I felt slightly ill. "You've _never_ done any magic before?" 

"No." He was looking at the floor now, almost whispering. "I kept hoping that - that if I didn't really do it, it would go away - it might all be a mistake, so I wouldn't have to be here..." 

"You didn't want to come to Hogwarts?" I wasn't quite speechless, but close to it. 

"No!" His head came up - and all at once, the dam broke. "I don't want any of this! All I was thinking of was how to get out of here - and then _they_ started in on me. They kept waking me up all night - saying what real wizards should do to _Mudbloods_ - and this morning... they tried to take my wand. Said no _Mudblood_ should be allowed to carry one." His voice rose, bewildered and bitter. "I don't even want the bloody thing! But I wasn't letting anyone take it off me. I'm good with my fists. So I hit a few of them - and then they started pointing their wands at me, and saying all these silly words - but nothing happened - and I said some of the words back, just to make fun of them - and suddenly there were spiders _everywhere_..." 

Now he simply looked confused, and very much alone. "This place is _awful_... I knew it would be..." 

So that's how it was. Eight against one - more than a duel. A garbled word, a burst of untrained power fuelled by raw panic and rage; with an unwanted wand in his fist. He had just won his first status fight, and he didn't even know it. He knew nothing at all. 

_Flying to Hogwarts with my father in the best carriage.   
Excitement. Pride.   
Looking forward for years to taking that first step into the great game of the families.   
Sorted into Slytherin, and knowing with all my being that I was born for this and it was where I belonged.   
The thrill of using my new wand.  
My only sadness: that Lucretia wasn't here at Hogwarts with her brother and myself.   
Not sad for long - too busy planning how to secure top place among the first-years, then take on the second-years... As I did..._

Somehow, I continued to appear unruffled. I started tracing colors in the air with my wand - a useful little habit which always helped me concentrate, while distracting others. Green... blue... purple... The boy slumped against the wall, silent again, and I let him be. Violet... red... I had a decision to make. 

_This one must not be lost_. The thought rang clear and loud in my mind. _Must not_. 

He talked like a Muggle. He had no idea what he was doing. 

_That spell shocked Lott. How did it work? What else could he do? _

He knew nothing of the game. He didn't even want to be a wizard. 

_Skill like his brother's. Like my own. Potential to be one of the best. _

The sensible move would be to disassociate myself from him immediately. Forget the plan, just throw him back in the Snake-Pit and out of Hogwarts very soon thereafter. 

_Skill like my own. _

He was a Mudblood. I came from a wizarding line over nine hundred years old. 

_Like my own. _

I couldn't walk away from this. It would be like casting my own wand aside. 

_Would not be lost. _

There was one way to give him a permanent place in Slytherin... at a price. I could provide him with lasting protection if I chose to form a status pair with him. As my status partner, he would be safe - as long as I was prepared to defend the arrangement. And challenges there would certainly be. Bringing a Mudblood into the game? Impossible. At the head of the table? The outrage would shake the dungeons. 

My wand went on making leisurely patterns in the air, but my pulse was pounding and my mouth was dry. _This could cost me the game. _

What's more, everything he did would reflect on me. That was what it meant to be in a status pair: successes and failures were shared. I had never paired with anyone but Aulus Belcore. This boy... to avoid complete disaster, I would have to train him; not only in the game and the use of magic, but in every aspect of life in the wizarding world - especially in Slytherin House. 

Rather ruefully, I recalled what I'd said to Tamino the previous evening: "I'm the only one who can do it." I had spoken more truth than I knew. I'd have to tell Tamino he could start worrying about me again. 

I couldn't believe I was going to do this. 

Once again - first things first. I had to pull him back from the brink of running away, persuade him to enter a classroom and learn some magic. Unless the Sorting Hat really had been drunk, there must be a few sparks of ambition and determination in him somewhere. If I could reach those - maybe I could make a Slytherin of him. In any case, there was surely no point in talking like a Hufflepuff now... 

I pried him from the wall, secured his attention, and took another deep breath. 

"Well, I'm much obliged to you for the explanation. I believe I can relate it to Professor Lott in such a way that the consequences for you will be minimal." 

His shoulders relaxed in relief - exactly what I had been waiting for. A long ribbon of red force shot out of my wand, wrapping itself around him and jolting him to the bones. I made my next words crack like a whip. 

"This is where you stop pretending it will all go away. You're a _wizard_. And you're here at Hogwarts, you're in Slytherin, and you're a Mudblood. Now let me explain how you're going to survive." I withdrew the red ribbon and set my wand to tracing flowers in the air, my voice brutally casual. 

"You say you're good with your fists. That won't help you here. Fortunately, you seem to be very good indeed with your wand. If you also have a brain, you ought to do well enough." 

Was that a spark of anger in his eyes? A good sign, if so. 

"You just scared eight baby Slyths into screaming fits. Not one of them could have done what you did - most new boys don't know any spells, or they can barely cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Of course, I knew slightly more than that, four years ago." I gave him my best ominous smile. "It helped. And today your year-mates are thoroughly confused and somewhat afraid of you - much as my own year-mates were, after our first day together. Well done, _Mudblood_." 

Then I abandoned all cleverness and spoke straight from the heart, giving him the deepest truths I knew about life in Slytherin House - and in the greater game for which it prepared us. He needed to hear this. 

"In the end, there are no rules here. Whatever you can do, do it. Whatever works, use it. If you're intelligent and ruthless and magically skilled, the others will respect you - and fear you. If not, you'll be fearing others for the next seven years." 

I placed his wand back in his hand. "Welcome to the game. You've made a good start this morning. Now get into that classroom and learn something else you can use." 

He met my eyes this time, and gripped the wand almost without looking like he wanted to drop it. 

Maybe I had reached him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sending the boy out of the room ahead of me, I closed the door after him and paused, raising my wand. 

"Arachniomnius." 

Spiders, floor to ceiling. I had just become the second wizard in the world to work this spell. And I now had a clear sense of how much power it required. 

"Finite Incantatem." 

Spiders gone. I permitted myself one quiet shudder at the implications. Then I walked out to continue the task of launching my elf on his career at Hogwarts. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I worked with Aulus Belcore in Potions, as usual; and that morning it was a relief to turn my attention to the delicate but comparatively straightforward tasks of cutting and measuring. Better still, none of the potion ingredients had anything to do with spiders. 

"There was some curious talk over breakfast," said Belcore. He gave me a wicked smile, idly tossing a rat's spleen from hand to hand. "Tell me, is it true about the new boy... is he really a spider Animagus?" 

I buried my head in my hands. "_No_. And frankly, I don't know what he is - except that he's trouble - and we need to forget everything we said last night." 

"What do you mean?" He threw the rat's spleen aside. 

"Aulus... I'm making him my status partner." 

"You're _what?!"_ Heads turned at Belcore's shout, and Professor Jigger gave us a stern look over his spectacles. We busied ourselves with our potion ingredients, continuing the conversation in muttered whispers. 

"_Out of your mind_... Didn't even ask me... Damn you, Julius, he's a Mudblood!" 

"Exactly why I'm doing it.... Any other way to keep him here?" 

"And you'll be only too delighted to duel everyone in Slytherin for the sake of Dumbledore's little brother..." 

"Oh, leave me alone, Aulus! I really need to think." 

"You might start by thinking of Gryffindor," he suggested, nodding across the room. We shared Potions classes with the Gryffindors, and right now Lucan Valery was obviously expiring from unsatisfied curiosity. A moment later, a small ball of crumpled parchment danced through the air and hit me on the nose. 

_Are you two going to tell me what is happening?! _

I wrote _Plan cancelled - unexpected complications!_ on another scrap and sent it in Valery's direction. It fluttered across the floor like a tiny Snitch, then rose to land among the roots he was cutting up. His reply was swift, bouncing angrily along the tables separating us. 

_Tell me NOW you snake or I'll send all the Gryff first-years after your darling elf! _

My second note flew openly across the room... too openly. As Valery reached out for it, another hand intervened. 

"Dear me," said Professor Jigger, unfolding the parchment. "Mr. Valery, it grieves me to tell you that someone among us considers you an 'unspeakable idiot'." 

Ripples of laughter across both sides of the classroom. Valery suddenly became very interested in the contents of his cauldron. 

Jigger shook his head, smiling slightly. "Well, Mr. Valery - five points from Gryffindor for being an unspeakable idiot." Then he turned to look directly at me, shrewd eyes gleaming. "And, Mr. Marvolo - five points from Slytherin, for choosing such an unfortunate method of expressing your assessment of Mr. Valery's character." 

Our Potions Master, also Head of Ravenclaw House, had a reputation for being scrupulously fair and very hard to deceive. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

For the rest of that class I worked on my potion in silence, thinking hard. At my request - and after a few more remarks about what he'd like to do to me for this - Belcore was subtly moving among the other Slytherins, spreading the news. A murmur of tension followed him around the tables. 

His last barb hadn't been far off the mark. While I was prepared to defend a status partner within my House, I did not relish the whole school sharing a good laugh at the sight of me playing mentor to the brother of... _him_, of _all_ people. 

This reminded me of the boy's puzzling hostility toward his elder brother. Too many unanswered questions there. Add them to the list of Albus Dumbledore mysteries. 

I raised my head to look at him, partnering one of the weakest Gryffindors across the room - he seemed serene as ever. His long auburn hair was neatly tied back, and a silver prefect's badge adorned the front of his black robes; his tall body moved with an unobtrusive grace. By all accounts, Dumbledore was a very good flyer - but he played no Quidditch, preferring to fly alone, at night. We had tried to follow him several times, unsuccessfully. 

Although I had seldom spoken to him, I knew Dumbledore's habits well enough from four years of watching him in classrooms and from Valery's accounts of life in Gryffindor Tower. It was said that he only slept two or three hours a night. He was usually to be found in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by books - somehow gaining full access to the Restricted Section of the library back in third year. He spoke little, but his steady blue gaze seemed to miss nothing. And he kept a barrier around himself with that infallible gentle courtesy, confiding in no one, not even his Gryffindor classmates. Had they ever dared call him a Mudblood? I doubted it. 

I knew what was said of him: "The most brilliant Hogwarts student in a hundred years." It gnawed at me. I was well aware of the powerful impression one could create through apparently effortless excellence. But Dumbledore... try as I might, I couldn't rid myself of the terrible suspicion that for him, it really _was_ effortless. Which only made me more determined to face him in a duel, a test of true magical talent and skill. 

Well, the latest duel plan was now in ruins. As for the new circumstances... Albus Dumbledore might well return his brother's dislike. Enough to duel me? Probably not. I had never seen him truly angry, though the four of us had tried often enough to produce that effect. But if he felt otherwise about his brother - then he would be in my debt. He should also be very, very worried. And that situation could offer its own opportunities... 

No time for that now. Reluctantly, I set aside all thoughts of dueling and returned to my new elf and status partner. I had personally pushed him across the threshold of the Transfiguration classroom; I could only hope he was still there. The next test would come very soon, when we faced the rest of the House in the Great Hall. 

I added the final dash of nightshade to my potion, nudging it along with the required incantation, and watched it change from murky grey to a clear green. Perfect. The classic recipe for the Sleep of a Hundred Years. I felt like drinking it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Wonder if Dumbledore's heard about the spiders yet," said Carus Tamino as we moved toward the Great Hall for luncheon. During History of Magic, a class shared with the Ravenclaws, I had still been so distracted that I didn't answer a single question, and Professor Binns started giving me concerned looks. But I had managed to tell Tamino about the status pair - and now he couldn't stop smiling. 

"I'll wager the whole school has heard about it by now," Aulus Belcore responded. "All eyes on your new partner, Julius... Sure you want to keep him? You might find yourself upstaged." 

"Right now I'm far more at risk from Gryffindor fury - " Lucan Valery was approaching us along the intersecting corridor. I ducked behind Tamino's back, laughing. "Save me, Carus - I'm about to be hexed to _pieces!"_

"Hexing's too good for you," said Valery, falling into step beside us. "But you might care to know I've already owled Lucretia about your acquisition of an elf... And if you don't tell me the rest - this minute - I'm off to the Owlery again, to send her the most lurid version of these spider rumors I can possibly invent. Then _she_ can hex you." 

"I'm mortified, terrified, and deeply wounded. And of course I'll be writing to her myself, tonight, if only to report that her brother is an - " 

" - unspeakable idiot!" The others joined me in the chorus. 

"Come on, Lucan, I'll tell you the story," added Tamino. We had now reached the doors of the Great Hall. "Julius - when do we get the pleasure of meeting him?" 

"I'll bring him to Central tonight, and you can entertain him - or hex him - while I go talk to Lott." I shifted to a conspiratorial whisper. "And I know the spider spell... How would it look here in the Hall? Ten Sickles says I can do it!" 

Tamino groaned and strode off toward the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables, dragging Valery by the sleeve. 

Belcore nudged me in the ribs. "Look at that. In need of rescue already?" 

The Slytherin table was filling up, but there was a wide gap on either side of a small figure sitting well apart from the cluster of other first-year boys. The older Slytherins were watching me avidly, waiting for a reaction. Word had spread from the Potions classroom. 

"So it would seem. The direct approach in this case, I think." I walked straight over and sat down at the boy's left, while Belcore took the seat at his right. Pleasant, deliberate smile directed up and down the table; eye contact made - held - and broken by several of them. Message conveyed: The head of the table is wherever I choose to sit. No weakness here, _back away_. 

Dumbledore Minor's shoulders slumped under his slightly oversized robes. He stared down at the table, making no move to eat, not even looking up as we joined him. Whatever encouragement he'd found in our earlier conversation had clearly evaporated. 

"Doesn't talk much, does he?" Belcore was piling food onto his own plate. "Or eat much, for that matter. Is this some form of Muggle ritual?" 

I rolled my eyes at him, then took yet another deep breath - how many would I need to get through this day? "The tactless creature on your right is Aulus Belcore. I'm sure you remember me. And at this moment we are all that's shielding you from a tableful of voracious Slytherins - so the least you could do is say hello." 

He mumbled something that might have been a greeting, without raising his eyes. 

I persisted. "So, how was the rest of the morning?" 

The reply was clearer this time. "...Just as horrid as I thought it would be." 

"That's the other complication," I explained to Belcore. "He doesn't want to be here." 

"Interesting elf. Does he do anything else, besides conjuring spiders and sulking?" 

"Shut _up_, Aulus. And you - what's the trouble? It was all Transfiguration this morning, right? What's so bad about that?" 

New students usually found their first Transfiguration class exciting, if sometimes daunting. Professor Switch used the standard approach of opening the class with a dramatic gesture - changing a chair into a dog, or a desk into a pig - followed by teaching the basic steps of changing a twig into a needle. 

"I hated it. Nobody's talking to me. And they were all whispering about me." He raised his pale, miserable eyes to mine. "And... I lost five house points." 

Belcore looked intrigued. "What a coincidence, so did Julius! Bad case of careless communication. And how did you manage five points in the infamous twig-to-needle class?" 

"I wouldn't do it." 

I was surprised, but tried to sound reassuring. "Look, most new boys don't get a needle - but surely Switch wouldn't take points for that - " 

"No... I mean I refused to do it... It was too awful." 

"What was awful?" 

"He - he turned the desk into a pig... a _real pig_. People just _shouldn't_ be able to do that," he whispered, shuddering. "It's... unnatural." 

Belcore's expression would have been amusing if I hadn't been equally flabbergasted. _Unnatural?_ This was downright offensive. Transfiguration was one of my strengths. 

"So I wouldn't touch the twig - I felt sick - and I lost five points - and _they_ were all laughing at me..." His lip trembled, and he lowered his head again. 

"Gods, _must_ we go on with this? It's ruining my meal - and people are watching us. Enough!" Belcore drew his wand and cast a light Cheering Charm at the boy, then pushed a plate of food and a goblet toward him. 

"What's this?" Dumbledore Minor no longer seemed on the verge of tears, but he sniffed at the goblet suspiciously. 

"Pumpkin juice." Belcore nodded at me to confirm that it was indeed as it seemed. "Stop looking as if I'd handed you hemlock - just drink it. Oh, what wouldn't I give to see you in your first Potions class!" He snorted, draining his own goblet. 

For the next few minutes the boy ate silently, while I thought rapidly - and Belcore probably pretended he was unacquainted with either of us. 

This was not a good start. The other first-years would soon spread the word that he was afraid of magic - and whatever would he do in the next Transfiguration class? With a slight grimace, I thought of his actions being bound to my own. But I _knew_ he could do it... that spell this morning had a fair dose of Transfiguration about it, and a trace of Summoning, and more... Oh, this would be a _very_ long letter to Lucretia. 

Meanwhile, he needed some sort of help immediately, that much was clear. Help that reached right into his head and twisted those cursed Muggle prejudices into their own undoing. I stared down into my pumpkin juice, wishing it were something stronger... and an idea came to me. 

Everyone was already talking about him. Some more attention, if favorable, couldn't hurt. Nor would it be the first time I had entertained the Great Hall, though it seemed odd to do so without the other three at my side... This would make the rest of the Slytherins even angrier, but it would also unsettle them - if it worked. Any hostile rumors would be publicly refuted. I raced through the measures of influence involved, and the status implications... It was worth a try. Now. 

Wand in hand, I turned to my right and moved to guide him into our first performance as a pair. 

"_Mudblood_." Mocking, challenging voice, no reassurance in it now. "Draw your wand." 

He was taken aback, but slowly obeyed. 

"So you think Transfiguration is unnatural? Well, _beware_ - I'm about to do some, right here." 

I tore off a piece of bread, changed it into a white mouse, and threw it in his lap. He jumped in fright as the mouse ran up to his shoulder. 

"Don't like that, do you? Well, all you have to do is change it back to bread. Go on, do it - _Mudblood_." 

No effect. He was only staring at me in disbelief. I grabbed a potato next and Transfigured it into a rat. 

"Is this _unnatural_ enough for you?" Tossing the rat at him. "No? How about this?" His plate turned into a piglet, squealing loudly as it dashed across the table. "Don't like pigs, _Mudblood_? Your choice. Change - it - back!" 

No response - then a shocked gasp as his shoes changed into two large fish. He leapt to his feet. So did I. Oh, we were getting plenty of attention now. 

"Do something about this! It's not right, is it? I _shouldn't_ be able to do it, should I?" The pointed hats of the six boys closest to us turned into wreaths of flowers. "It's unnatural! You really hate this, don't you, _Mudblood_?" Louder. Faster. A handful of peas flew at him, transforming into butterflies on the way, hovering around his head. "And I'll just keep on and on until you stop me, so _do it!_ Change it all back!" 

Slytherin House was watching every move, and our audience expanded as heads turned at the other tables. I changed a loaf of bread into an owl, and sent a few more mice after it. Then I pointed my wand at his robes. Green fur blossomed at the hem like flames, and quickly spread up to his neck. One of Lucretia's holiday tricks. He ripped at it in sheer horror. 

"No, you can't tear it off, you stupid _Mudblood_! Use your wand! You're a wizard. Change it back! Do it! Go on, stop me before I do something worse - or are you still afraid? What are you waiting for - _spiders?"_ Half a dozen biscuits became tarantulas and ran straight at him. 

"Is it _unnatural_ enough for you yet? Is this your worst nightmare? So stop it now. Use your wand. Change it all back." One after another, goblets were changing into ravens and flying at his head. The edge in my voice became even sharper. "_Mudblood_. They're all laughing at you, _Mudblood_. This shouldn't be happening, should it? Stop me now! Change it back!" 

I was circling him, closing in, keeping up the barrage of Transfigured objects. Belcore was leaning back and enjoying the show; in the distance I caught a glimpse of Tamino, hands over his mouth, and Valery's broad grin. Another owl. A cat. A ferret. Knives and forks into tiny snakes, skimming across the floor. A rising wave of mirth across the Hall. Damn the brat, he had to break soon - I was tiring fast. 

The eight other Slytherin first-years shrieked as their robes became pale pink silk. "Pretty, aren't they? But not _natural_. Go ahead. Change them back. _Do it!"_

There were only a few Masters at the staff table, and they were making no moves to intervene. Binns and Jigger were laughing openly; Switch was watching me closely; Lott looked thoughtful - but Lott knew me very well, and he'd seen the spiders. 

The boy was trembling now, tightly clutching the wand, eyes wild. Almost there - maybe... I swayed with the effort of sustaining so many spells. Reached for more. 

"_Mudblood_. Change it all back! Just tell it to stop. Do it now. Wingardium Leviosa!" 

He screamed. I was levitating him over the Slytherin table. 

"Shouldn't happen, should it? Oh, it's so _unnatural!_ Stop me, _Mudblood_!" 

Colored lights joined the dance of objects in the air around him. 

"Use your wand! Do it, _Mudblood_!" 

Spinning helplessly above the table, dazzled and terrified... Angry? Desperate? 

_"Do it now." _

His wand moved. 

No light - only a rush of force that rocked me back a pace and seemed to draw all the breath from my lungs. The power I had sent into the Transfigured objects flickered - and was gone. 

Abrupt silence. Food and random objects lying still, scattered over the stone floor - the house-elves would have some work to do here. I stepped forward and helped Dumbledore Minor off the table, brushing a few crumbs from his plain black robes. 

"Next time, make it easy for both of us," I whispered. "Stop me at the first mouse." 

He gaped at me, still speechless - then suddenly giggled. I smiled back at him, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "Well done, Mudblood." 

The applause started - first the Ravenclaws, led by Tamino - then Valery set off the Gryffindors, and the Hufflepuffs joined in as a matter of course. The Slytherins were in a delicious dilemma: torn between house loyalty and the dishonor of applauding a Mudblood. They'd seek to make me pay for that as well, later. But all of them had now seen - and felt - what he could do. 

I made one sweeping bow and stepped back, letting him absorb the understanding that the Hall was applauding _him._

Then I looked over at the Gryffindor table, searching for one particular member of the audience. He was there - but I could read nothing in his face, nothing at all. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"So how much detention are you giving him for _that_ piece of theater? Or was it all part of the game, yet again?" 

I stood in Professor Lott's office, ready to report on the spider spell and ensuing events. Professor Switch, Transfiguration Master and Head of Gryffindor House, had emerged from the fireplace just as I arrived. The two of them settled behind the desk to hear me out, with the ease of an old, practised team; Switch's craggy features and untidy grey hair somehow complemented Lott's dark sleekness, and I could have sworn they read each other's minds on occasion. 

"Everything is part of the game - and whyever should I penalise the most innovative player in my House? Go ahead, Mr. Marvolo. Let's assume that you knew what you were doing. Explain it to us. Full status implications, now." 

Smiling inwardly at Lott's description of me, I straightened my shoulders and began. 

"Status of the House. Two members of Slytherin held the attention of everyone in the Great Hall today. The other three houses all applauded members of Slytherin. Around the whole school tonight, people are talking about magic worked by members of Slytherin. Measures of influence: attention, approval, curiosity, admiration. Result: a gain in status for Slytherin House." 

"You left out 'horror'," growled Switch. "If any Gryffindor had done to another student what you did to that boy, I'd have taken fifty points at least." 

I didn't back down; Switch preferred students who stood up to him. "With respect, sir - that which may be a liability for Gryffindor may be an asset for our House. Message conveyed: Slytherins play rough. Measure of influence: intimidation. Result: a gain in status for Slytherin." 

Lott had poured mead for himself and Switch. Now he raised his goblet to me in a wry salute. "Go on, Mr. Marvolo. Your assessment of the boy." 

"Personal status of Dumbledore Minor. First-year student, Mudblood, the only Slytherin with no status based on family, thus entirely dependent on his own performance. Made a promising start this morning. Measures of influence: attention, intimidation. This was subsequently placed at risk - " 

"That pathetic little coward, I took five points off him." Switch looked disgusted. "Didn't have the gumption to try the simplest task." 

" - placed at risk because his Muggle beliefs blocked his magical abilities. He referred to Transfiguration as 'unnatural'." 

Lott sighed. "I can't blame you, Adrastus. I would have taken ten points, for a disgraceful display of Muggle attitudes. We need to teach Defense Against the Muggle World here - Know your enemy. Constant vigilance! At Durmstrang..." He shook his head, and motioned for me to continue. 

"My intervention applied pressure to his revulsion toward magic - turning it into a motivation to work magic. It also gave him a taste of the rewards of the game. Measures of influence: surprise, attention, admiration. Result: a gain in status for Dumbledore Minor, and for the two of us... as a status pair." It was still hard to say those words without wincing. 

"Hmmph. I'll be watching him in class next time." Switch scowled into his mead. "You seemed very certain of the outcome. But what if he had failed to respond to your... _pressure?_ Would you have washed your hands of him at once?" 

"No, sir. I would have created the illusion that he had succeeded. Priority of house status and personal status. _Then_ washed my hands of him. Quietly." 

"This game of yours creates monsters, Gesius." 

"Nonsense. It creates wizards capable of a worthy performance in the greater game. This boy may outrage your sensibilities, Adrastus, but he is an asset to Slytherin House; and I look ahead to the wizard he will become, fifty or a hundred years from now. You know what his family is, as well as I do - so enough of that." 

I was used to this sparring between the two of them. In fact, something of the sort happened whenever Slytherin and Gryffindor worked together; Valery and I had our own version of it. Never held us back, just as it had never prevented Lott and Switch from being a formidable team - with much underlying affection for each other. 

Now Lott refilled their goblets, smiling; and I was able to move on with the story, in the crisp formal language of status analysis, familiar to me from childhood. 

"Personal status outside Slytherin House. The whole school saw me perform a number of advanced Transfiguration exercises, sustained and at speed. I also displayed dominance over, and partnership with, the student responsible for the spider incident and a flash of powerful magic in the Great Hall. Measures of influence: intimidation, admiration, attention, association. Result: a gain in personal status." 

"Well enough, Mr. Marvolo," said Lott softly. He leaned forward. "And at the heart of the game? Where do you stand tonight?" 

This was the difficult one. "Personal status within Slytherin House," I began. "I have chosen to partner with a Mudblood. I knowingly drew the school's attention to the presence of an unusually gifted Mudblood wizard in our House. I manipulated other members of Slytherin into public expression of support for a Mudblood. Risky combination of measures of influence: intimidation, humiliation, coercion. Result: uncertain. I expect some form of challenge no later than tomorrow morning." 

Our Head of House would not advise me, nor even wish me luck. That was not his role. He watched the game within the House and took careful note of each new twist. I led in the game - so he gave me special attention. Lott valued my skills; he even liked me. His way of expressing this was usually to throw me into the deepest possible water and demand that I swim. This time, I had managed to dive in entirely by myself; he now expected me to face the consequences - confront the rest of the House and prevail - any way I could. Afterwards he would hear my account of whatever happened, point out the flaws, and send me back into the Snake-Pit. 

Lott was the perfect Slytherin mentor; the only tactics he ever condemned were those which were unsuccessful. 

"Where is the boy at present?" 

"In the Central common room, sir. With Aulus Belcore, Lucan Valery of Gryffindor, and Carus Tamino of Ravenclaw." 

Lott had that thoughtful air again. "After all this time, the Hat suddenly presents us with a Mudblood... Why now, I wonder?" 

"Sir, he told me that he requested the Hat _not_ to place him in Gryffindor. For personal reasons." 

Lott and Switch exchanged a long look, one I couldn't decipher. 

"I shall not press you for your own personal reasons here," said Lott slowly. "But do take care, Mr. Marvolo. Remember the first rule of the game: think before you act." 

That startled me. Lott never talked to me like this - as if in warning... 

"And make one small correction to your analysis," added Switch. "That Muggle-born child is nevertheless not entirely without status based on family." 

I was then asked about the morning's events, and gave a full account of what Dumbledore Minor had told me of the fight in the first-year dormitory. By that time, enough mead had been consumed to make both of them quick with the obvious response to hearing the key word of the spider spell. 

"Will you do the honors, Gesius?" 

"Very well." Then Lott glanced at me. "Unless _you_ would care to try it?" 

"I already have, sir. It worked." 

Switch chuckled. "Ah, Gesius, trade me this one! I'll give you the Valery lad, and throw in a couple of Weasleys - " 

"No trade," said Lott lightly, standing and reaching for his wand. "Not unless you're parting with Dumbledore." 

"Certainly not. And that's for your own good - he'd ruin your reputation down here. Now show me some spiders." 

"Arachniomnius." 

Low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned. What a pretty little spell." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The common rooms of the four houses tended to be places for quiet study or conversation. The Central common room was considerably more lively. 

This vast, noisy, magnificent room - directly above the Great Hall - was where all houses met and mingled for informal competition, cooperation, or both. There was always something in motion: exercises, wagers, arguments, tricks, experiments, games, dares, and a large amount of individual showing-off. Central was where fashions and feuds started, and rumors took flight. It was where the most spectacular duels were fought. 

Being there required being able to accept challenges readily, dodge fast-flying objects or hexes, and hand over your Sickles with good grace when you lost a wager. No one ever went into Central without his wand. 

I practically lived there. 

If my elf needed to see plenty of casual, entirely _natural_ use of magic, Central was the ideal place for him. Yet as I made my way back from Lott's office I did feel some apprehension about what my friends might have done to him - or he to them. 

However, there they all were on the window-seat; and no sparks seemed to be flying. I started toward them across the room, looking around as I went to see who was with whom tonight and what entertainment might be available. It seemed like a relatively quiet evening. Someone had Charmed the ceiling to change color at regular intervals; hardly original, probably a Hufflepuff prank... Not many Slytherins about; well, I knew where they would be... A duel was in progress in the far corner; no one important... I nodded a greeting to some sixth-years by the fire - two Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, and a Ravenclaw - who were our most frequent rivals in Central group challenges. They waved back cheerily and called out a few interesting, if painful, suggestions for how I should next apply my Transfiguration skills. 

The window overlooked the lake and the window-seat formed a broad curve, its worn brocade cushions a deep, inviting dark red. This had been our territory ever since we first teamed up in a challenge to win the rights to it, nearly four years ago now. Tonight the low table was pulled over to one side of the curve, and three heads were bent over it intently. Dumbledore Minor didn't even look up as I approached. Valery and Belcore raised a glance to greet me, then turned their attention to the table again. 

Tamino had the lute with him this evening; he had taken the other side of the curve, legs outstretched, his graceful fingers making random bits of melody. Clear grey eyes smiled a welcome. I sank down on the floor at his side, leaning back against the seat. 

"How was Lott?" 

"In fine form. Switch likewise. And how goes it here?" 

A soft laugh above me. "Well, we've all learned a few things about Muggles this evening... Fascinating, really - though I rather think Aulus has been on the verge of apoplexy several times..." 

"What _are_ they doing over there?" 

"Quidditch explanation. Lucan's idea - he's picturing the last Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match on the table-top. I thought I'd sit back and leave them to it. But it might indeed be fun to see your status partner on a broom." 

"He'll either fall off at once, or fly it halfway to Avalon." I closed my eyes with a sigh. "Gods, I'm tired... And I still have to get him through the Snake-Pit tonight." 

A break in the melody. Gentle touch on my cheek, then moving through my hair in a caress like comfort. "Rest, while they keep him occupied. And you know how I love a captive audience..." His music resumed, this time flowing into song. 

_Night, night, blow out the candle...  
Inside a blazing building, on a sacred mission... _

Tamino's rich voice enveloping me, over the familiar hum of Central. I felt more at peace than I had all day. 

_Up the wooden stair, up into my heart...   
I know that you know this is all that matters... _

So Valery couldn't resist trying to convert a Mudblood to Quidditch. Well, the new season was about to start, and he was the Gryffindor team's best Chaser... I had played Seeker for Slytherin in our third year - then decided my time was better spent on study, dueling, and the endless permutations of the game. Valery still lived for Quidditch matches. I just loved to fly. 

_Nowhere near, wade in a lake of silence...   
Only say that word and I will pour myself like wine... _

Murmur of voices from the other side of the window-seat. This probably counted as a successful evening, so far: the boy was neither hiding in a corner nor screaming. Of course, it helped that the other Slytherin first-years were nowhere about. And Albus Dumbledore was almost never seen in Central. 

_And you know this is nothing special...   
With one slip we could lose ourselves forever...   
One time for all times.   
And you are the only thing that shines... _

I rested my head against Tamino and allowed myself to drift for a while. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

As the three of us made our way along the twisting, torch-lit corridors of the dungeons, I gave Dumbledore Minor some basic instructions. 

"We have to walk through the common room, that's all. So keep behind me and walk. Be prepared to stop if I do. But don't look anyone in the eye, and no matter what they say, don't answer." 

"And don't trip over anything," Belcore added solemnly. "And _no spiders!"_

It felt good to be able to laugh at that moment. Very soon we would enter a long, low room packed with other aspiring players of the game. Many genuinely outraged by the very idea of a Mudblood in Slytherin, let alone in a status pair. Some thrilled at the prospect of conflict. Some simply scenting the possibility of a major shift in status within the House, and swimming toward that promise of opportunity. A few determined to see me fall. 

There would be a challenge; but I had no way of predicting what it would be. 

"Remember: look straight ahead, follow me. This won't take long." At least, I hoped it wouldn't. What awaited us might range from an exchange of harsh words to some extremely unpleasant forms of magical violence. 

We reached the wall which hid the Slytherin entrance. The Bloody Baron was hovering outside it. His hungry eyes widened at our approach, and he gave me a smirk of anticipation. 

"_So_ many people waiting for you in there, young Julius... Shall I give your regards to your illustrious ancestors, and inform them that you will be joining them shortly?" 

Before I could reply, he had slipped away through the wall. 

"A _ghost?"_ It seemed one of us had suddenly reached his limit for accumulating new experiences that day. He looked worse than he had in the Great Hall. "No - I'm _not_ going in there! You can't make me!" 

"Just get him under Imperius," said Belcore impatiently. "We can't wait around out here!" 

"No." For some reason, I felt reluctant to take the obvious course of action. I considered alternatives for a moment... then turned and looked steadily into the scared, defiant eyes of my elf and - _oh, gods_ - new status partner. 

"Listen to me. The people in that room are angry with us. Because you are what you are. Because I'm protecting you. But they are also uneasy about us - and that's good. I am linking my status with yours, and - after what they have seen today - they fear what we might be capable of, together. This is an opportunity for us. _This is the game." _

He wasn't looking away. He was listening, head tilted up at me. I went on. 

"Now we use their fear. Heighten it. We walk right through them - and I intend to explain a few things along the way. They will try to stop us somehow. If they fail, the gain in status will be substantial - for both of us." Oh, Lott would just love this story... "I'll do whatever I have to do to get us through. I need you to be there. Do you trust me?" 

He hesitated. Maybe thinking of being levitated in the Hall, fish on his feet. 

"Remember this morning? Do you want to fear others for the next seven years - or will you play to win, starting right now? Mudblood... This is Slytherin. _This is the game._ Walk in there with me." 

He bit his lip - then nodded, once. Ahh... perhaps the Sorting Hat hadn't been completely insane after all. 

I faced the wall and spoke the password. _"Silver and green!"_ The door slid open and we went through, Belcore last. The door closed behind us with a soft, final click. 

I started walking, calmly and evenly, straight down the middle of the crowded room. Not allowing my expression to change at all - even as all eyes focused on us, and the voices rose around us in counterpoint... and I felt a spell take hold. I only reached out to draw Dumbledore Minor to my side, my left hand now on his shoulder. 

They had cast the Shuttle for us, and it was already weaving the room into a trap. 

A Dark Charm, very useful for a subtle many-on-one attack, in that it avoided direct confrontation with any individual attacker. The Shuttle used the power of the voice: as the attackers spoke, it flew from one to another, catching their words and weaving them into a net tightening around their target. Any of the seventh-years could have cast it, but it would be powered and sustained by every person here. 

The effect was not unlike that of a dementor. The Shuttle's web drained the will, confusing its target, bringing the deepest doubts to the surface of the mind. Before the three of us reached the end of the room we would all be frozen in place by our own indecision, unable to move a step or work the simplest spell. The price of lifting the Shuttle's paralysis would certainly include my abject apology for the insult done to Slytherin honor this day... and whatever sport they cared to have with the Mudblood. 

Voices rising and falling, words blurring into each other... I could feel the net now, light as gauze, pressing on my mind. The boy beside me let out a slight gasp, and I tightened my grip on him in warning: Don't you dare break and run. We can fight this. I have been learning the game all my life. 

_Long evenings in my father's chambers. Rosewood and ormolu, with floating globes giving soft yellow light, and tapestries bearing our mark of silver and green serpents on a black shield. Dark rows of shelves and cabinets rising to the ceiling. Spellbooks handed down through the generations, and his own books from the work in France, with Saint-Germain himself, almost a century ago... _

My training in the Dark Arts had begun years before I came to Hogwarts, and was still continuing. Years in those chambers, with my father methodically leading me through the history, the skills, and the spells: first learning to identify, then to block, and then, as I grew in strength, to cast. I was his heir. 

_He looks up from his desk, half-smiling, the streak of white in his black hair catching the light. First question for tonight... "How would you block the Shuttle, Julius?"_

The simplest way was to bring down those who spoke it, one by one. No, too many of them here. The other way... All at once, I felt very thankful for those Quidditch matches in my past. 

_Measures of influence: surprise, intimidation._ How far would we have to walk? Half-way, I decided - to the hearth at the center of the common room, under its great mantelpiece carved with runes and figures from the earliest history of our House. Far enough to impress; and what a perfect place to make a point. 

The net pressed closer now; I leaned into it, as I had been taught. A slight shift of vision - and I could see its smoky grey threads, see the Shuttle itself as it criss-crossed the room - darting now to Rosier's lips, and on to Delacroix - then circling us again to weave more words into the spell. One firm instruction to myself, while I could still form the thought: _keep watching the Shuttle_. I walked on, trying to keep it in sight, hearing Belcore's harsh, furious breaths behind me. The shoulder under my hand flinched, trembling... 

And what would my father say if he could see me now, risking my status for a Mudblood? However had I managed to get myself into this position - this completely unnecessary confrontation with almost everyone in the House? I could still choose to stand aside. The game did not require this of me. Not for a Mudblood. Not my problem. _Priority of personal status_. Yes, stop now, stand aside... 

With an effort, I pried the Shuttle's tendrils from my mind. 

The boy at my side was certainly hostile, obstinate, and ignorant as a Muggle. But he also had talent - and _damned_ if I would stand by and see that blocked by the creeds of the world he came from, or crushed by the antipathy of the world I knew. The waste in that prospect offended me. And - what a challenge, to make a wizard of this unknown quantity - what enticing possibilities for new twists in the game... 

My eyes remained on the Shuttle. Twenty paces more, perhaps, before we reached the hearth, and the net was closing in fast. Thank the gods the boy was here of his own will; I couldn't have sustained Imperius now... 

Could I have cast it at all? _Not entirely without status based on family_. This was Dumbledore's brother. Yes, that _other_ unknown quantity, over in Gryffindor Tower, the one who had set my teeth on edge and placed my status in question for the past four years. And the duel I sought was surely the duel I was fated to lose - for my power was based on hard work and flamboyance alone, while his was the true magical genius that is born once in a century... And to aid this boy would be to aid my rival; or perhaps even to raise up another rival, within my own House... 

I fought the Shuttle's net, but it only clung closer, sending my thoughts spiralling inward into chaos. My left hand loosened its hold, started to draw back - then steadied once more. The Shuttle darted to the left, swung wide and to the right. The hearth seemed impossibly far away. Ten paces. No, I _couldn't_... 

I was - and _was not_ - in the Slytherin common room. I was in Central, in my element, and my friends were there waiting - Belcore pouring the absinthe, and Valery with his arm around Tamino, each holding out a hand to me, their smiles pure mischief... My awareness shifted, the two visions sliding past, grazing each other, holding on. I was watching the Shuttle - counting paces to the hearth - straining past the net's cloud of confusion... I was walking across Central, and with these three I knew no doubts and never could. 

Five paces to the hearth. A sound from Dumbledore Minor, between a sob and a snarl; he slowed his pace, but I pressed him on. Felt the stir of expectation in the crowd on either side. The Shuttle circled us and flashed away. The net tightened. 

Voices all around, weaving into the spell; yet I could hear a lute playing somewhere. Now I was seeing Lucretia there with the others, which made no sense at all - she had never set foot in Central... I found I no longer knew where I was. Only knew I had to keep watching the Shuttle. 

And then, as we drew level with the great mantelpiece, I saw it turn at the far side of the room and come swooping toward us once more. 

I braced myself, for a single moment shutting out all sound and all images apart from that sleek grey dart flying at my head; and time seemed to slow as my right hand came up with one sure motion - half Dark Arts training, half Seeker's reflexes - to catch the Shuttle as it brushed past, and grip it tight. It burned in my hand, becoming fully visible, fighting to break free and continue the spell. 

The absurd maelstrom in my head now sounded exactly like Valery, shouting: _One hundred and fifty points for Slytherin!_ Made me bite back a laugh that would have carried too much madness. 

I raised my arm high, so that all could see what I held, aware of the voices fading away as I strode to the hearth and hurled the Shuttle into the flames. 

The net shattered. My mind was clear again - and I would give those gathered here no chance to shape any other spell tonight. I turned to face them, with the fire blazing behind me and multiple serpents writhing in the carvings arched over my head. 

Time to drive the point home. 

_"This hearth is my birth-right."_ Not words, to them. A slow, fierce hiss sweeping the room, sending a visceral shudder down the spine of every Slytherin. 

This was the core of my status here, though I rarely resorted to such blatant demonstrations of it. The core of what the glass showed me each day as I grew into who I was: my slender height, jet-black hair, and deep-set dark blue eyes marking me out as being from the oldest family of all - in a House which knew how to appreciate such distinctions of history. 

The Marvolo line. Direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin. Tall and dark-haired and powerful. _Parselmouths_. 

Briefly, I wondered if anyone else had caught the irony of Parseltongue being spoken in defence of a Mudblood. 

My companions still stood on the path down the center of the room. Belcore's face was flushed with the anger which had undoubtedly been his way of fighting the net. The boy was wide-eyed and wary as a startled young Kneazle, but when I beckoned him forward he moved to join me before the hearth - to give the crowd a good look at what was, admittedly, one of the strangest status pairs Slytherin House had ever seen. 

"Permit me to make something clear." Words cool and deliberate now, slicing through the silent room. "This _Mudblood_ will be a true Slytherin, and an asset to the House. Far more so than some people present, in fact... You have my word on that. Will anyone here question my word?" 

I looked around slowly. Not one person stepped forward in challenge. Good. 

Then I pivoted on my heel and continued down the length of the room, not hurrying. A flicker of satisfaction at the sight of boys moving out of my way. Silence unbroken until I had passed through the door, followed by Belcore and Dumbledore Minor. 

Victory in the game took many forms: one of them was walking through a crowd of people who wanted to see your blood, and knowing none of them dared to touch you. Slytherin House was the training-ground for wizards capable of doing that. 

Once we had passed the first bend of the corridor I stopped to lean back against a cold stone wall, waiting for my heartbeat to slow down. 

"Well, Salazar Serpent-tongue - could you do with a drink after that performance?" Belcore's eyes gleamed in the torchlight. "Feel free to answer in Snake or English, as you please..." 

I laughed, rather shakily. "Just now I think I could sing the School Song in Mermish - without noticing." Took a long swig from the flask he offered me, allowing some of the tension to drain from my shoulders at last. "My thanks, Aulus. Here's to the hope this will keep them quiet for a good long while." 

Then I looked down at Dumbledore Minor's bewildered face, finding a smile for him. "My thanks to you also. And don't make a liar of me. I hate having to hiss at them." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Later that night - once my elf had been escorted back to the first-year dormitory and a few mild threats had been applied to his room-mates - I was finally free to start my letter to Lucretia. 

Lucan Valery's sister. The last person to take my wand from me in a duel, while I was staying with the Valerys over the past Yuletide holidays - twelve days of warmth and spells and wild games... She'd hit me with a viciously complex, rapid sequence of curses - and as I struggled to counter them, a swift and simple hex knocked me to the floor. I'd looked up to see her holding two wands, cheeks pink with triumphant delight - then she'd pulled me to my feet and thrown her arms around me, as Lucan whooped and applauded - he and I swept her up and swung her in circles until we were all dizzy and breathless with laughter... 

I had met Tamino in our first year here; Belcore and I had met earlier, though we were never close before starting at Hogwarts. The Belcore and Marvolo families were in formal alliance, but with the Valerys we had something more than that. My mother had been a Valery. And I couldn't remember a time when I hadn't known the Valery twins, Lucan and Lucretia; nor could I imagine being without them. 

I would have made Lucretia my status partner in an instant, if I could. I still regretted - as I had from our first day at Hogwarts - that she couldn't share this with us. She would have been the best possible partner in Transfiguration and Dark Arts classes. She would have thrived in the frenzy of Central. But no witches had been admitted to Hogwarts for the past three centuries... 

My father was over a hundred years old, and Tradition was his favorite word. The Valerys, decades younger, were daringly intent on a full magical education for their daughter as well as their sons: Lucretia's father taught her himself, following the Hogwarts curriculum as closely as possible, and encouraged her to test her skills against ours. She had the vast Valery library at her disposal - saving all of us many a permission note for the Restricted Section. And we tried to share our school lives with her, as far as we could. 

It was a rare day that none of us received an owl from Lucretia - an endless stream of books, gifts, food, anything we asked for. She exchanged letters with Lucan every day, sometimes several times a day; she discussed novels and music with Tamino, absinthe recipes and money with Belcore. As for myself... ah, Lucretia, my secret weapon in the double-edged game of status! I could tell her anything - in fact, I told her everything. And she kept my secrets, and responded with her true thoughts, and I valued this more than any non-Slytherin could ever comprehend. She would be very interested indeed to hear of this night's events in the common room. 

I smiled, preparing to explain Dumbledore Minor to her. Which would she find more intriguing, his skills or his opinions? 

In any case, I could describe the spider spell in detail - knowing Lucretia, I had no doubt she would try it immediately. She would also attempt to find out how it worked and what it might mean. Then there was that puzzling moment in my talk with Lott and Switch: they were warning me off the idea of a duel with Dumbledore... Why? They had never done that before. And Lucretia would probably send me a Howler if I didn't include a complete account of what I'd done in the Great Hall, even though she would receive three other owls tomorrow bearing versions of that story... 

I picked up my quill. 

_To Lucretia from Julius, greetings  
I do believe I have just lived the longest, most complicated, most confusing  
day of my entire life - and I know I shan't be able to rest until I have shared   
the full tale with you..._

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Notes:**

Tamino's song uses the words of _Only Thing That Shines_, by Shriekback from the _Oil and Gold_ album (1985). 

The names _Gesius_ and _Adrastus_ are borrowed from _Sailing to Sarantium_ by Guy Gavriel Kay (HarperPrism, 1998) - a most wonderful AU Byzantium in the time of Justinian and Theodora. 

Like Chapter One? Hate Chapter One? Please don't hesitate to express your opinion. There's _plenty_ more of this story to come: it's intended to run from 1855 to around 1920. If you tell me what's wrong with it now, I can still change it before submitting it to Schnoogle - which won't be until there are three or four chapters of it. 

And if you like Julius so far... would you like to see him in the canon era? Read _Phoenix Riddle_ by teluekh: see Julius, Aberforth, Young Albus, Lott, Switch, Tamino, and Lucretia arrive in the 1990s and meet the Trio. I'm awfully flattered that teluekh has chosen to use my OCs in her fic, and I'm enjoying it greatly.   
**Phoenix Riddle:** http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=613321 

The structure and narrative style of _Two Worlds and In Between_ are heavily influenced by the historical family sagas of Susan Howatch. I love her first-person narrators, and wanted to try writing something like that... and, well, the 19th Century history of the Potterverse was simply _begging_ to be invented. :-) 

**Thank you** in a huge way to Julius Marvolo's gang of beta-readers, guinea-pigs, intrepid volunteers: Dorothy, Lyle, Riley, Catherine Cook, teluekh, Juliane, Lev, Hypatia, Frances, Kristina, Hecate, Vulgarweed, jodel, Keket, Bree... and all those on the WIKTT list who liked Julius, Albus, and Aberforth when they appeared in the _Stooping to Conquer_ round-robin in January... and everyone else whose virtual presence hovers around www.witchfics.org 


	2. Chapter Two

**Title:** Two Worlds and In Between (2/?)   
**Rating:** PG-13 for now, may change to R later   
**Summary:** The 19th Century history of the Potterverse: a saga with adventure, angst, romance (het and slash), ethical dilemmas, drama, betrayal, war, and lots of magic. Opens in 1855, at Hogwarts with the Dumbledore brothers - and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle.   
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The title is a line from _Lucretia, My Reflection_ - a song by the Sisters of Mercy. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author's notes at the end of the chapter.**

**Two Worlds and In Between**   
by Minerva McTabby 

**Part One: STATUS**  
Julius Marvolo  
1855 

**Chapter Two**

Lucretia's reply, delivered by owl at breakfast, ran to two scrolls of parchment and made me laugh aloud, in a week when I sorely needed laughter. 

_You were wrong, Julius - I did_ not _try Arachniomnius at   
the dining-table. I worked it in the ballroom, and it looked   
magnificent. Oh, you should have seen the house-elves!_

The spell had indeed captured her interest. She agreed with me about an element of Summoning being present at the initial stage, followed by Transfiguration; then her letter became a maze of runes and symbols as she shared her attempts to trace the subsequent process. I could almost see her throwing down the quill in frustration at one point - then dimpling wickedly as she picked it up again to sign off with a fond admonition not to kill my new status partner. 

Had killing the little demon truly been an option, any one of us might have tried it in those first weeks: myself, my friends, the rest of Slytherin House, or any Masters unlucky enough to be teaching him. In lieu of that solution, we could only watch him carefully and respond one step at a time. 

Whenever he wasn't in class or asleep, I kept Dumbledore Minor close by my side from the very first morning after the Shuttle challenge. He sat on my left for meals, at the head of the Slytherin table; he spent his evenings either in Central with all of us, or in Belcore's chamber and my own if we stayed within House territory. My main purpose here was to protect him from the other Slytherins. At first they had all resolved to ignore his existence - but Dumbledore Minor proved impossible to ignore. Without intending it, he was rapidly becoming notorious. 

He no longer required to be forced into panic before he would use magic. To give him credit, he had apparently accepted being a Hogwarts student... in his own way. While remaining silent, moody, and rebellious, he was prepared to try learning a few things; but the problem was that his wizardry, at first suppressed, now emerged absolutely undirected - and Dumbledore Minor's first weeks could be summed up in two words: spontaneous magic. He was a _menace_. 

Even if Peeves the Poltergeist had overcome his fear of the Bloody Baron enough to venture into Slytherin, we wouldn't have required his services; we had Dumbledore Minor. The other Slytherins weren't trying any direct attacks at first - though that would only be a matter of time, I thought grimly - but they did make many barbed comments in his hearing about Muggles, lineage, and inept spell-casting. He seldom showed any open feelings, yet it wasn't hard to tell when he was distressed - as cutlery suddenly flew off the table, paintings crashed down from the walls, or a cold wind from nowhere swept scrolls into the air. This would be followed by quiet snickering from all directions as I wearily waved my wand to restore order. Nothing overt; no one at whom I could aim a curse. Only that scattered, disparaging laughter, and deliberately audible whispers about "Marvolo's apprentice", or "Marvolo's familiar". 

And if the atmosphere within Slytherin House hadn't been enough to make me want to scream and hurl hexes at everyone in sight, there was also the reaction of the rest of the school to consider. I was accustomed to attracting a certain amount of attention, but now the stares and sidelong glances were being directed at the boy who walked beside me: everyone had heard about him, and everyone waited to see what he might do next. 

I couldn't accompany him to his classes. I could only take every possible measure to ensure he was ready for them, then send him through the door and wait with ever-increasing apprehension for the tales that followed. The status implications were fast becoming so complex that I almost gave up calculating them. 

Before his second Transfiguration class, the two of us spent several hours in my chamber with a large supply of twigs and an elementary textbook. I started from the very beginning, slowly and patiently explaining the steps involved in making the change. Two difficulties became apparent almost immediately. Firstly, his reading was atrocious; I didn't know what Muggles did to educate their children, but it certainly hadn't worked for Dumbledore Minor. Moreover, he couldn't seem to appreciate why he needed to know the fundamental processes behind Transfiguration. 

"If I can just change it, why do I have to bother with all _that?"_ Sullen look at the open textbook on my desk. 

"Because if you lack understanding and control of what you do, you're no wizard - you're a channel for a random force! You're not working magic; it's working you." I was leaning against a bed-post. Now I touched my wand to one of the silver and green serpents which formed a repeating pattern across the black velvet bed-hangings: the tiny snake began to writhe. "Control, Mudblood. Focus. That means making your skill serve your will, do _precisely_ what you want it to do - no less, and no more." I raised the wand again, and more of the snakes came alive - in perfect concentric circles all over the bed. Once more, and now every snake was coiling and uncoiling, slithering against its neighbors. With a final wave of my wand, the snakes were still - and the boy at the desk across the room was silent. 

"Would you care to try that? And can you assure me that you won't set the bed afire, or turn my snakes bright blue while attempting to make them move?" 

He shook his head. "No, Marvolo." His tone was an odd combination of annoyance and exaggerated deference. 

I gave him a suspicious look. "Then let's take that first change again, shall we? Try another twig - _slowly_..." 

By the time we left the room, some twigs were needles, Dumbledore Minor looked a little happier, and I felt like sleeping for a week. The next day, he walked into Switch's classroom - and Slytherin House lost another five points. At luncheon, ignoring the tittering of the other first-years at our table, I concentrated on finding out what happened. 

It seemed Professor Switch had handed out needles this time, instructing the students to Transfigure them into twigs. And Dumbledore Minor had indeed changed his needle into a twig - together with every other needle in the classroom. 

"He said he was taking five points for 'showing off', Marvolo." 

This seriously made me wonder how many points I might lose for hexing Professor Switch. 

The other first-year Slytherins would have nothing to do with Dumbledore Minor. All of them refused to partner with him in any classes requiring work in pairs; but coercing them would have meant a great deal of effort and possible complications. Fortunately, there proved to be other solutions. I called in a favor from a senior Hufflepuff, securing a first-year from that House to work with Dumbledore Minor in any classes they shared. Valery found a Gryffindor boy to do the same, and Tamino brought in a Ravenclaw. That was all well and good; yet I was caught unawares by the interest these arrangements aroused when word of them spread. 

"They're _competing_ to partner him?" I asked Valery, incredulously. 

"Indeed they are," he said, shouldering his broom. He was on his way to Quidditch practice, Tamino beside him for moral support. "You know, he's unpredictable and a little dangerous - and the baby Gryffs love that! Quite prestigious to sit next to him. Daring. A kind of Gryffindor status game, if you will." 

Tamino smiled. "Our first-years are doing it too - they're insatiably curious about why he does whatever he does. And I think the Hufflepuffs just want to be first with the gossip, the next time he does anything... interesting." 

I could only shrug in bewilderment at that; but this attention from the other houses persisted, even as Dumbledore Minor's tally of "interesting" exploits grew. I came to dread his Potions classes most of all, after one produced a quote from Professor Jigger which was repeated _ad nauseam_ by the entire school. 

"While all too many of my students have caused cauldrons to explode, this is the very first time a student has done so before placing _any_ ingredients in the cauldron. Congratulations, Mr. Dumbledore. Five points from Slytherin." 

I had dark suspicions of a conspiracy among the Masters: they appeared to have agreed to leave Dumbledore Minor's training entirely to me, while gleefully taking house points for all his mishaps - _knowing_ what this would do to my status. I almost asked Lott a direct question about it, but pride prevailed: I knew he was watching me, as ever. This was another challenge, another test - albeit a most unusual one - and I would not admit defeat. 

And I was not alone. I could turn to Tamino for aid in overcoming Dumbledore Minor's difficulties with reading; soon the Ravenclaw common room became accustomed to Tamino's small Slytherin shadow, coming in for an hour or two of reading practice. The other Ravenclaws didn't mind at all. Tamino had to restrain them from crowding around to quiz the boy on grammar and ask obscure questions about the Muggle world. 

Tamino also undertook to help with Potions; here even the basic ingredients and purposes were unfamiliar to Dumbledore Minor, who shied away from some of them as if they disgusted him. He also proved notably clumsy in handling any fragile materials or delicate measurements... I gloomily foresaw more trouble ahead with Jigger - unless we could somehow cast a permanent Dexterity Spell - and asked Lucretia to let me know if she came across anything useful for that purpose during her search for the key to the spiders. 

Lucretia was the one who finally persuaded a grumbling Belcore to work with Dumbledore Minor in his own strongest field: Charms. Their first session ended in a crash, a shriek, and Belcore's mutters of "_Never_ again!" as he stalked off with a flask of absinthe; and the equally reluctant Dumbledore Minor emerged from the second session with his mouth sealed shut. Yet I persisted in throwing my ill-matched status partners together, over and over - hoping they would do their worst to each other and move beyond it, before the other Slytherins ended this uneasy truce and came after the three of us again. It was bound to happen. They were all eyeing that Mudblood at the head of the table. 

This was also why I decided to start teaching Dumbledore Minor to fight. As I told Lucretia in the second week of term, the undercurrents of tension within our House were too strong to postpone it; he needed to learn some elementary hexes and self-defense, at least. She agreed with me. The others did not. 

"Teach _him_ how to fight?" spluttered Belcore. "Why? So he can turn around and curse _us_ whenever we tell him what he doesn't want to hear?" 

"He doesn't need hexes," said Valery slyly. "He _is_ a hex. Ask anyone." He grinned at Dumbledore Minor, who sat on the floor beside him, listening nervously to our talk of curses and fighting. 

Even Tamino was sceptical. "I'm afraid it might be too much for him - he has so many things to learn, all at once - does it have to be now?" 

"_Yes_. The sooner, the better - I can't keep him at my side all day forever - and Aulus, don't pretend you didn't notice how Vesalius Delacroix was staring at us over breakfast!" I stopped pacing and settled on the window-seat beside Tamino, with Lucretia's latest scroll in my hand. "Now don't argue any more, Carus, and look at this. She says she's found something like an Alchemical change - can you make anything of it?" 

Tamino took the letter, his forehead creasing into a frown as he read. "Yes, I can see the change there - but as for _why_ it might happen... No, Julius, I'm sorry... Oh, if we could only show this to someone who's good at Transfiguration _and_ Alchemy - " He glanced at Dumbledore Minor, then lowered his voice to me. "If you want this solved quickly - we need You-Know-Who. Shall I ask him, in our next Alchemy class?" 

I was back on my feet in an instant. "_Oh_ no! Not him!" The others looked up at me, startled; I sat down again, struggling to keep my temper. "Absolutely _not_. We'll work this out yet - you and I and Lucretia. It can't be that difficult, surely?" 

Tamino made no reply; he was studying Lucretia's notes once more. Sinking into silence beside him, I looked around for distraction - and found myself watching a History of Magic lesson. Valery had volunteered to help with this subject; now he and Dumbledore Minor were stretched out on the rug as Valery's wand sketched a series of images from the days of the Founders. Dumbledore Minor looked enthralled. I hoped he'd remember what he saw. Valery and I had agreed to lend him both our family names for History of Magic classes - Belcore had flatly refused - but I tried not to think about what he might do with the name of Marvolo... 

However, Valery's lessons had taught all of us one important thing about Dumbledore Minor: he liked _pictures_. If he could see something, he would understand it; and he was by no means stupid - rather the opposite, whenever he wasn't frightened or angry. Now we all tried to make suitable images for him at every opportunity, from Tamino's Potions lessons to my own efforts to explain the game and ensure he knew the names of all the great families. 

The next evening, I took Lucretia's advice and made Dumbledore Minor watch some of the exchanges around Central - starting with the least complex. It was hard for me to remember, sometimes, that he had never seen any real duels. I wondered what Muggles did instead, but refrained from asking. 

The two of us stopped to observe a pair of Gryffindor second-years, clumsily throwing hexes at each other in a corner. 

"This isn't a duel, is it?" He sounded puzzled, but not alarmed. 

"No, they're only playing. One spell at a time - and not often blocked, at that." We both laughed as one of the boys fell flat on his face, hit by a neat Leg-Locker Curse. 

"Can you show me how to do that?" 

It was the first time he had _asked_ to learn any magic. I couldn't help smiling at him. "Oh yes. That and much more. Want to be good with your curses as well as your fists, status partner?" 

He nodded, still hesitant but with a trace of actual eagerness. "Well - _you_ are, aren't you? I've heard people talk about you and dueling... Is it true you're the best in the school?" 

His pale blue eyes were exactly like those of his brother. For a moment I seemed to see them across the challenge floor - and his wand poised for the duel to begin... then I blinked back the image and held my voice steady in reply. 

"What matters now is that you should be the best in your year, good enough to make others think twice before going after you. And you'll be fully in control of how you fight. No more spiders, unless you _want_ them." I placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him - and myself. "Yes, I'll show you." 

A few moments later we heard a break in Central's usual noise. The new shouts and laughter were clustered around the challenge floor - and it was being cleared. I pulled Dumbledore Minor forward, well pleased with the timing of this interruption. 

"Come on - now we'll see something more lively!" We moved to join the gathering circle of onlookers, and saw at the center of it my fellow Slytherin prefect, Rosier - facing Foxon, a seventh-year Ravenclaw. Not a formal challenge, not the same as a duel for the game within our House; but this would still be a fight worth watching. 

While only a minority of Ravenclaws chose to study the Dark Arts, those who did could be formidable. I liked Foxon. Short, fair-haired, unassuming; fine technique, and calm under pressure. When I waved at Belcore, busy taking wagers around the circle, several conversations paused as people waited to hear my choice. 

"A Galleon on the Ravenclaw!" To annoy Rosier, mainly. At times, wagering against a member of one's own House could be an effective insult: equivalent to saying that any loss to his personal status would have a negligible impact on the House. 

"Perrin Rosier. Family ranked ninth in the greater game. Strengths in Charms and Dark Arts. Powerful enough, but not very subtle - something of a disadvantage in dueling Ravenclaws - let's see how he does..." The boy beside me appeared to be paying attention as I ran through this basic description. _Very_ good sign. 

"It's starting. Don't speak until it's over." The floor cleared, and the silence of the duel descended on us all; so I was only laughing inwardly when I saw the Delacroix heir step forward to act as Rosier's second. Well, well. The recent rumors about those two were true, then; why else would Vesalius Delacroix do this for the younger son of a family ranked beneath his own? Poor Rosier. Far too pretty to be wasted on a Delacroix... but ambitious, certainly. 

The seconds bowed and withdrew; the duelists themselves stepped forward, bowed, and raised their wands. The duel began. 

I forgot about Dumbledore Minor. I forgot about everything else. Though this was not my fight, it was a _duel_ - and it sang in my blood as if each spell were indeed my own. Two voices working magic in waves of whispers, chants, shouts; words resonant or sibilant, harsh or honeyed, hurled forth or slowly cast. Two arcs of force from their wands, intersecting, entwining, separating again to come together with a burst of sparks. Foxon and Rosier were both skilled enough to make it what a duel ought to be: a challenge for one's intellect and magical power, requiring lightning responses, stamina, a quick memory - and strategy as well as courage. 

This was definitely not one spell at a time. The art - and the fun - lay in fashioning intricate combinations of curses and hexes to send against an opponent in an unbroken stream. Spells to cloud the mind, to weaken the body or the will. Spells to deceive. Spells to distort, to deform, to maim - though not to kill; we would not duel to the death until we left Hogwarts and joined the greater game. And each spell blocked, or countered, or reversed and sent flying back at the opponent. 

When I dueled, I lost all sense of time or place. I lost myself entirely in the power of curse and counter-curse, my mind fully alive in the all-absorbing challenge of casting and blocking a rushing torrent of spells. 

Now, standing back, I could resist the lure of the duel itself enough to analyse what the two of them were doing. Yes, Rosier was striking at his opponent's right side, aiming to weaken that part of his body. Meanwhile, Foxon was aiming for the mind - some of the curses getting past Rosier's defences would be wearing away at... no, not his judgement... ah, his _memory_. Interesting approach by Foxon - whatever was he planning? And which of them would be the first to break? 

Both were tiring now, with more of their power channelled into reversing and Healing the damage done by spells they failed to block. It wouldn't take much longer. 

When the end came, it was quick. Rosier cast a vicious sequence of curses intended to _cut_ - and one of them almost got through. If Foxon hadn't blocked it at the last moment, it would have severed his right arm above the elbow. Even so, it was a nasty gash. A darker patch of blood appeared on the sleeve of his robes. He quickly Healed it - but the rhythm of his spells was disrupted, and Rosier struck again, aiming for the right leg this time. 

Foxon cried out, falling to one knee, head bowed. Rosier raised his wand to complete his opponent's devastation. 

Then Foxon's head came up again. He rose, pivoting fast on his uninjured leg, wand pointed straight at Rosier's face. 

"Obliviate!" 

Much to the amusement of all spectators, Rosier completely failed to block this unexpected attack: he suddenly found himself standing on the challenge floor without the least idea of why he was there or whom he was fighting. Before he could make any kind of response, Foxon was holding up two wands in a conclusive victory. 

The silence of the circle broke in a storm of cheers and applause. I called out a loud "Well fought!" to Foxon, waving at him. Catching a furious scowl from Delacroix, I waved at him as well, clearly mouthing one word: "Leprosy." He looked away quickly. A little reminder of our last duel, when I had snared him in the illusion of his limbs turning into rotting stumps. 

Then I glanced down at Dumbledore Minor. "Now _that_ was a duel. How did you enjoy it?" 

"I've never seen... _oh_, how did they do it?" Excitement and doubt in his voice, painfully mingled. "Marvolo... you won't do all that to me, will you?" 

"Certainly not! Well - not _all_ of it. Not in the first lesson, anyway. Next week, maybe..." 

It took him several heartbeats to notice I was laughing at him; then his face brightened, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't teach him to fight unless he wanted to learn. Now it appeared that he did. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Professor Switch made it look easy. One flick of his wand - and the classroom became a dazzling sight, as the late-afternoon sunlight touched the Transfigured desks and floor. They were now made of crystal. 

Switch held the spell until the seven of us had taken a good look, then released it. "Well, lads - let's see who can manage that by the end of the class! I'll have you do the desks or the floor, at least, but try for both if you can. Questions?" 

I had none. The previous night, after watching Foxon win his duel, I had returned to my chamber and read about this type of change for several hours. Now it would be a matter of applying it. Moving to the nearest desk, I set down my books and reached for a quill. Valery soon joined me. 

"Trying for both?" 

"Of course - _if_ I can get that change to work horizontally and vertically at the same time... here, how does this look?" 

He barely glanced at my parchment. "Makes my head ache, even thinking about it. No, I'll try for the floor. I'm sure I can do it - and Switch will give me a point or two for that - dear old fellow likes me." 

I made no reply, but felt a twinge of irritation as I continued plotting the spell. I had looked forward to working with Valery in these classes; yet the experience was already a disappointment. Although he had the talent - naturally, since Transfiguration was one of his family's strengths - he lacked the passion for it that his sister and I shared. Each time Lucan shrugged aside the most challenging exercises, I missed Lucretia more. 

While Slytherin and Gryffindor did not meet in regular Transfiguration classes, Higher Transfiguration - an extra subject beginning in fifth year - drew the best students from all Houses. Our group had two Slytherins, two Gryffindors, and three Ravenclaws. We were starting a course of advanced Transfiguration tasks, much more demanding in terms of complexity, speed, and scale. 

I briefly Transfigured the top of the desk, as a test - no, crystal as such would not be a problem, I'd done it before. My main worry was the size of the classroom. The expanse of this floor had never seemed so alarming. Transfiguration rapidly became more difficult when applied to objects larger than one's own body, and until now I had seldom attempted that. My father had particularly warned me against trying any overly-ambitious Transfiguration tricks during duels. 

_This is the power of the heart - sourced in your own life-force, your capacity for growth and change. In working the changes, you are changed; beware, for Transfiguring too much or too quickly will leave you drained and defenceless..._

At least this exercise was all level surfaces and inanimate objects. Beside me, Valery's head was bent low over the desk; his long hair brushed the parchment as he shaped his own spell, muttering something about time and range. Timing - another challenge. Not desk by desk, but all of them at once, as well as the floor. It would require a spell that spread almost instantly across the room, yet the more distant objects would take more power to change... Oh gods, I still couldn't see how to do that for _all_ the desks, simultaneously. 

But I was not Lucan Valery. No one would expect me to attempt merely half the exercise. Neither did I intend to make a fool of myself by failing before _this_ group of people. 

The other Slytherin present was Traherne, who had been leery of me since our first year. A low-ranked family - though perhaps one to watch in the next generation, if they could take full advantage of their heir's surprising Transfiguration talent; linked to the Delacroix through three cross-alliances, and more distantly linked to the Malfoys. All this translated into the certainty that if my Transfiguration exercise failed, the whole House would know of it by evening; and I could not afford any further blows to my status now. 

Then there was Professor Switch, who had been paying extra attention to me over the past fortnight - in the sense of extra criticism. He seemed determined to treat me exactly as he treated a certain first-year student. Very likely, he and Lott - damn the both of them - were wagering on the duration of my new status pair. 

Yes, much as I loved Transfiguration, these classes would have been far more pleasant if Lucretia were there instead of Lucan - if Traherne would leave - if Switch stopped carping at me... and if Albus Dumbledore didn't occupy the desk next to mine. He was working alone, and appeared to be sketching something on his parchment - I could only hope it wasn't the key to changing the walls and ceiling as well as the floor. Not that Switch's pet would be in any danger of losing points for _showing off_. 

This was the first time we had encountered each other in such a small group, yet thus far he had not said a word to me, or even met my eyes. Splendid. I was quite prepared to ignore his existence too. The alternative was a strong impulse to shove Dumbledore Minor in his direction - "Your brother. Your problem. You solve it." - and walk away to regain some measure of control over my own life. 

In the previous Higher Transfiguration class, only Albus Dumbledore and I had fully succeeded in the set exercise and gained ten House points. Now, gritting my teeth, I resumed working on the new spell in front of me. I _would_ do this. 

The details of distance, speed, and power took a while to calculate, but by the time Switch called us all to the front of the room, I was ready. 

Valery didn't hesitate to step forward first. As the floor turned crystal, he let out a loud "Oof!" and steadied himself against the Master's desk, hastily releasing the spell. 

Switch chuckled as he passed Valery a silver flask. "Takes something out of you, doesn't it, boy?" 

"Felt like a full Quidditch match, sir," Valery admitted cheerfully, raising the flask to his lips. 

"All becomes easier with practice, Mr Valery. Thank you, and two points to Gryffindor." 

Valery returned the flask and moved back to stand beside me. At my inquiring look, he murmured, "Restorative Draught. It helped - gods, that was awful." 

The three Ravenclaws were next, and two of them also chose to Transfigure the floor. The third attempted the full exercise, only to botch it: his tables still had wooden legs, while the crystal floor was a most peculiar shade of brown. Switch's comments on that made the red-faced boy choke on the Draught. 

Then it was Traherne's turn. He did a tidy job of Transfiguring the desks, but cautiously held back from the extra power required to change the floor. His face was a sickly green as he released the spell and reached for the flask. 

"Another attempt from Slytherin House?" Switch waved me forward. "Come, show us what you make of it." He sounded amused. What in Hades did he expect of me? 

I stepped up to his desk and took one final, measuring look around the classroom, trying not to see Traherne or Dumbledore. Valery gave me an encouraging wink as I readied the carefully-crafted spell in my mind and raised my wand. 

Now. _Crystal_. 

Gods, I'd done it! - floor and desks together, instantly, perfectly. I felt fierce joy, overtaken by weariness so great that only an effort of will let me hold the spell for a slow count of ten. Another effort kept my shoulders straight and made me smile slightly while I did so - as if I could work this change every day, for the fun of it. 

"Hmm." Switch peered at one of the desks. "A little cloudy - Mr Marvolo, are you perhaps unfamiliar with the expression 'clear as crystal'? Still, not a bad effort. Five points to Slytherin." 

_Five?_ I released the spell, fighting both exhaustion and indignation - fighting even harder to let neither show on my face. When Switch held out his flask to me, I waved it aside. 

"No, sir, I thank you." I wanted nothing more than a large jug of Restorative Draught, followed by another of absinthe. _A little cloudy?_ A number of alternative names for Professor Switch streamed through my mind as I strode back to Valery's side, hoping at each step that my knees wouldn't give way. 

I turned to see Dumbledore already standing by Switch's desk. A glance around the room - then he raised his wand and brought it down in a precise, powerful arc. Watching carefully, I noticed that he closed his eyes for a moment as he worked the change. 

Crystal. Desks and floor, both. Held for a count of ten, then released. Not a sign of strain; not a hair out of place. He accepted the flask, obviously more out of politeness than any real need. 

"Lovely work!" said Switch, beaming. "Ten points to Gryffindor." 

Only Valery heard my involuntary hiss of fury, and he knew better than to remark on it. 

We gathered our books and left the classroom silently, turning in the direction of the room where first-years met for Charms, many long stone corridors away. 

An inconveniently lengthy walk, I decided. "Wait - not that way - there should be a short-cut around here..." 

"Oh, you're actually going to show me one of those?" Valery affected great astonishment. "Deeply honored, I'm sure! And fully in favor of anything that gets us to the Great Hall faster - I feel absolutely starved after all that, don't you?" 

I did. As soon as the corridor around us cleared, I stepped up to one of the paintings along the wall - a scene of Nymphs and Fauns around a rock-pool - and reached out to touch the left hoof of the last Faun, making him squeal. The painting and a section of the wall behind it instantly faded, becoming translucent. 

"Come on, before anyone else sees this!" I pulled Valery through the misty doorway, which turned into a solid wall again behind us. "Lumos!" We found ourselves in a narrow passage ending in a spiral staircase. 

"I like this one!" He gave me a pleading look, eyes sparkling with mischief in the wand-light. "When will you show me the rest, Julius?" 

"Never, and you know it. Stop asking me!" Laughing, I led the way along the dusty flagstones. "Let's go - I simply can't wait to hear what he's done in Charms..." 

My knowledge of this doorway, and many others like it, came from a little rite of passage in the Marvolo family. Four years earlier, on the evening before I started school, my father had given me a collection of scrolls - copied from the plans drawn by Salazar Slytherin himself - which contained the key to the design of Hogwarts. Salazar had been the one to weave the vast Confundus Charm into the very mortar of the castle. It was said to change at random - but there was method behind the chaos, if one knew the key. And there were very, very many secret doors and hidden rooms. Wishing me good fortune, my father admitted it had taken him six full years to decipher, find and explore them all. I was still determined to do it in five. 

Meanwhile, some of them were undeniably useful at times. And I did like the feeling of knowing what almost nobody else knew; it was already serving to restore my good humor after that abominable Transfiguration class. 

At the top of the spiral staircase was a door with no obvious latch or doorknob - but it swung open at a simple "Alohomora!" and we emerged in a side-corridor around the corner from the Charms classroom. 

"Salazar's gift to tired and hungry Marvolos," I muttered. 

"You can hiss him your thanks later - now let's get the boy and find some food!" 

We walked out into the main corridor, straight into a group of first-year Ravenclaws leaving the same classroom. Snatches of their conversation added to the usual sense of foreboding I had after each of my status partner's classes. So did the laughter of the Slytherin first-years ahead of them. 

Dumbledore Minor stood alone beside the classroom door, clutching his books and wand to his chest. When he saw us approaching, he looked both relieved and frightened. Another five points, then - and his first words confirmed it. 

"I _tried_ this time, I really did! I couldn't help it - " He looked past us, then back at me. "Where's Belcore?" 

"In the library," I replied. "Why?" 

"Didn't know you missed him," added Valery. "He'll be ever so touched." 

"It's - oh, it's what he said he'd do to me, if I didn't get these Charms right..." 

With a sigh of resignation, I pushed him forward along the corridor. "You can tell us about it on the way to dinner. And whatever Aulus said he'd do to you - I'll do it to him if he does, so don't worry. Now - what happened?" 

The class had covered basic Warming and Cooling Charms. The Master had given each boy two pebbles: they were instructed to practise until they could turn one hot and the other cold, at the same time. Most of the students had succeeded. 

But when Dumbledore Minor waved his wand, his pebbles had simply vanished. 

"I don't _know_ where they went!" His voice trembled with frustration. "I did everything like Belcore showed me, I kept thinking of him..." 

Professor Fitchett had provided more pebbles. Dozens. All had vanished into thin air. The Ravenclaw students, unable to contain their curiosity, had started offering one theory after another - which only made Dumbledore Minor more nervous. 

"One boy said I was swallowing them!" He looked slightly sick at the thought. "That's almost what Belcore said he'd do to me... Do I really have to tell him about this?" 

"Well, there he is - let's see if he wants to know!" Valery pointed across the entrance hall, and we paused at the Great Hall doorway to let Belcore and Tamino catch up. 

Belcore's voice reached us first, through the bustle of other students between us. "Julius, is this one of your thrice-cursed jests? Or was it _him_? Rocks! Damned _rocks_!" 

Dumbledore Minor shot me one appalled glance and darted behind my back. 

"Oh gods," breathed Valery. "He didn't - " 

"It was him, wasn't it?" Belcore's eyes flashed with sheer outrage as he produced a handful of the missing pebbles. "Rocks in my pockets - under my parchment - on my books! Rocks falling on my head!" He held up a flask, shaking it. "Rocks in my absinthe! Damn that brat, I'll - " 

"Aulus, do calm yourself - even if he was doing it, I'm sure he didn't mean to - " Tamino laid a hand on Belcore's arm, only to have it brushed off. 

By this time Valery and I were holding on to each other and howling at the thought of Belcore sitting in the library, being showered with pebbles from nowhere. I also heard stifled, horrified giggles behind me. 

"Must have been a kind of reverse Accio," I gasped. "You'll have to give all those back to Fitchett - " 

"Did you - did you notice if any of them were hot or cold?" Valery's question sent both of us into fresh bursts of laughter. 

Tamino looked at us with dawning comprehension. "So they came from him, in Charms? He made them move?" 

"Why me?" spat Belcore, still livid. "Why did he send them to _me_?" 

"He was thinking of you - so they went to you. I don't think your technique of threatening him is working, Aulus." I dragged Dumbledore Minor forward. "Stop looking so terrified, Mudblood, he won't kill you - or not during dinner, at least. I'll not hear any more of this until we've eaten!" 

As we entered the Hall, Valery started telling Tamino about the Charms class. They walked off together, while I moved to take my place at the head of the Slytherin table: still fatigued from Transfiguration, buffering the tension between my status partners, and facing the simmering hostility of the rest of our House. 

What a delightful meal this promised to be. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

At first, I was glad the conversation over dinner that evening seemed to require little guidance. The eel pie, roast mutton, and other fare appearing on the silver platters before us were of far greater interest to me; I only paused to note one or two changes in the seating order along the table. Talk ebbed and flowed, breaking up into smaller groups for gossip, or coming together to discuss the Slytherin team's preparations for the Quidditch season. 

Sunset faded on the great ceiling over our heads, replaced by a starry black sky with few clouds. I sent my greetings down the table to a freshly-formed status pair among the second-years. On my right, Belcore threw in a few comments about our team's new Chaser, while doing full justice to the food - good, since eating always mellowed his temper, and I wanted his cooperation later - if I could only stay awake long enough to give the boy his first fighting lesson that night. 

The three of us sat on a short bench at the head of the table. Next to Belcore, first along the table's length, was Delacroix, with Rosier beside him. Facing them on my other side were Malfoy and his status partner, Warrington. Beyond them was a mixed group of students in their fifth, sixth, and seventh years, seated according to status, with those in third and fourth year clustered lower down; at the very end of the table were the second-years and the new first-years - all except one. While I did feel sorry for Dumbledore Minor, sitting next to Malfoy - who looked at him as if he were a speck of dirt - I really couldn't have seated the boy next to Delacroix. At least Belcore knew enough to avoid being poisoned during meals. 

A fourth-year boy recounted a new interpretation of how Godric Gryffindor lost his sword - the tale proposed by a Ravenclaw in History of Magic that day, and enacted with much enthusiasm by the Slytherins in the class. I was only half-listening as I slipped some meat under the table to the cat winding itself around my legs. This ginger beast was Warrington's familiar, but he never did feed it properly - so it had become the best scrounger of all the Slytherin cats. A few others sat with their masters, as did a number of toads and Traherne's hare. 

On my left, Dumbledore Minor picked at his food. He seldom said a word at the table, and I wondered what he made of the talk around it - which had now shifted to a rather tedious rumor about the Lady of the family ranked forty-ninth taking a lover from the family ranked eighty-first... I tried to stifle my yawns. The food, while very welcome, had made me drowsy already - and it was hard to give my attention to the game of the long table, when the topics uppermost in my mind were so unsuitable for expression there. 

Those pebbles - if he had indeed worked some form of Banishing Charm, that might be another clue for Lucretia's search through the Valery library. We would see her two weeks from now, in Hogsmeade - maybe she and Tamino could find the missing piece of the puzzle by then... Alchemy and Transfiguration - no, I didn't want to think of that combination. _Ten points to Gryffindor_. Damn Switch, anyway... It would be a considerable relief to tell Lucretia exactly what I thought of him when I wrote to her about today's class. 

I glanced down the table to the other first-years, turning over some possibilities in my mind. The ambiguity of Dumbledore Minor's place among them could not be allowed to continue. He was _my_ status partner - yet the other eight were shutting him out as they rushed to learn their first hexes and establish a ranking among themselves. Oh yes, high time for him to learn to fight, and not only for the sake of defending himself. If he truly wanted to do it, I'd teach him enough to take the wands of all his year-mates, one by one, in short order. They'd not ignore him for much longer. 

Usually a young wizard's family background indicated what his strengths would be; but in this case I'd work on the assumption that he would be skilled in Transfiguration and Charms. I would need Belcore for this... and Valery could also be helpful... I thought back to my own earliest fights - and all I had written to Lucretia then, describing the smallest details in many scrolls of happy bragging... Determined not to be left behind, she had made me re-fight every duel with her over the holidays. 

I was still dreamily sorting through simple hexes when I felt a soft tug on my left sleeve, startling me out of my thoughts - to find the conversation sliding straight into the jaws of Cerberus. 

I cursed myself for letting my attention wander, and Belcore for doing nothing until it was too late. Dumbledore Minor now seemed frozen in place, eyes lowered and fists clenched. 

The Slytherin table had turned to discussing the Muggle world. 

"It's the truth!" one of the sixth-years was saying. "I had it from my cousin at Durmstrang - " 

"Oh, why don't they teach us Defense Against the Muggle World here?" 

"Lott could - " 

"Ah, but Hogwarts is known for its excellence in _Transfiguration_ - for those who care to _attempt_ it, of course." That was Delacroix. The words were casual, but the implications were not. 

I glanced at the High Table. Both Lott and Switch were looking straight at us; and they also had their ways of listening at a distance. 

"Well, what my cousin says is - if you ever chance to rut with a Muggle, choose a male, not a female!" 

This remark drew groans, laughter, and some sounds indicative of nausea at the notion of intimacy with Muggles. Oh, _beware_, whispered the prickle along my spine. They were baiting me - and I hadn't seen it approaching - and I was in no state to fight a serious duel this night. 

"A fine topic for the dinner-table, I declare." Malfoy sounded bored, but the flicker of malicious delight in his slow smile belied it. 

"Oh, do stop teasing and tell us what you mean! Why a male?" The question came from lower down the table, where the younger boys were all ears. 

"Because - and I say this _solely_ out of concern for you, my Housemates - their females have _no_ control over when or where they get with child. And so, unless you fancy the thought of a Muggle bearing your heir..." The rest of the speaker's words were drowned in more laughter as he dodged all the objects being thrown at him. 

"And they know _nothing_ of the Arts of Love?" Traherne sounded sceptical. 

"Nothing at all!" replied Rosier. "In truth, they're meant to be maidens when they wed - though I'm not certain if it's only the females, or the males as well - " 

"Imagine two maidens in the marriage-bed!" General mirth along the table at that. 

I touched Dumbledore Minor's arm lightly, in warning, hoping very much that he didn't understand more than half of the comments which followed. I had to resist my impulse to get him out of the Hall immediately; if I left my seat now, I would likely return to find it occupied by someone else. Neither could I turn the conversation at this stage. That would also be an admission of weakness. We had to stay and wait it out - no matter what they said. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Belcore pour another shot of absinthe into his goblet. He had been drinking steadily through the meal - did that explain his silence, or was there another reason? For the first time in four years, I questioned his loyalty to our status pair, and this doubt shook me more than anything being said around us. 

"Well, maidens or not," said another seventh-year, "what's the use of a wife who's ignorant of the Arts? I mean to say - what do they _do_?" 

"They _breed_, dear boy," said Delacroix in a drawl of disgust. "They breed and breed. Gods, they bear so many young - six, or eight - " 

"Or ten, or twelve - and more!" echoed Warrington, grimacing. 

"Faugh! Like cats - or rats - " A murmur of repugnance swept the table. But still none of them said anything directly to me, nor looked me in the eye. 

"That's why there are so many of them - and more all the time - " 

"True! My grandsire says there never used to be so many Muggles - " 

"Nor so many Mudbloods - " 

Straying closer and closer to the line - but not crossing it, not yet. Dumbledore Minor didn't stir; maybe some of my lectures on the need for control were having an effect. 

"It shouldn't be allowed, I swear!" Delacroix again. "Salazar himself said as much - " 

Then I forgot about Dumbledore Minor's need for control, in the battle for my own. The insult in those words was plain, and now there were more than a few glances at me. Message conveyed: betrayal of our House, of your own lineage. 

My weariness warred with my anger; my fingers itched for my wand. Only the thought of losing a duel to Malfoy or Delacroix - here in the Hall, with the whole school watching - kept me in my seat, and maintained my look of complete unconcern. 

"Surely we'll not permit them to multiply like this forever?" 

"We should do something, before the world is _quite_ overrun with Muggles and Mudbloods - " 

"Are we wizards or aren't we? If we used our magic against them - " 

"Why, we could enchant them to eat their young - like rats - isn't that clear?" 

"Ah, indeed! Clear as _crystal_!" 

My restraint broke. I reached for my wand - just as every single goblet on the table exploded, showering us all with pumpkin juice and shards of pewter. 

Slytherins leapt to their feet. Amid the startled oaths, yowling cats, and general indignation, the three of us were also standing - Belcore tense and silent, I with my wand drawn, and Dumbledore Minor with eyes blazing and teeth bared in a snarl of rage. 

"Dessicato! Reparo!" My spells rang out over the uproar, which sank to an ugly murmur as stains vanished and the goblets reassembled themselves, instantly refilled by the assiduous house-elves. I turned briefly to give the boy on my left a stern look that said _Leave this to me_. He nodded slightly, reluctantly. 

More than a few wands had now been drawn around the table, and the stares fixed on Dumbledore Minor spoke of violence. _Mudblood_, they seemed to say. Not one of us. Drive him out. _Let him begone_. One move, one wrong word, and they would - 

I sent a ribbon of silver from my wand, to weave and wind through the air around the three of us at the head of the table. A lovely, mesmerising pattern - almost random, save for the rune it formed over and over again: the rune of Warning. 

Then I reached for my goblet and raised it high. 

"Shall we hear a toast, my Housemates?" I called out, in a voice pitched to carry to the very end of the table. "Come, drink with me - _to the Serpent and the House_!" 

I knew none would refuse that toast - especially not when it was proposed from where I stood. Sure enough, they all drank; the sense of violence ebbed slightly, nudged aside by familiar ritual and House loyalty. Part of that loyalty - as I was reminding them - meant accepting the authority of the one who led in the game. 

"And now - shall we resume our meal?" I dismissed the silver ribbon and sat down; Belcore and Dumbledore Minor followed my lead, then the others also began to seat themselves, until none were standing. 

Silence. Most still waited to see what those at the higher end of the table would do; I had to deal with them first. Setting down my wand by my plate, I plucked an orange from the nearest fruit-bowl and picked up a knife. 

"No need to worry about pumpkin juice stains on our robes," I said to Malfoy pleasantly, peeling and quartering the orange. "So much easier to remove than blood-stains, are they not?" 

"I dare say they are." Taking my meaning, he inclined his head in my direction; a barely-perceptible nod of compliance. Warrington would follow his lead, and so would those in alliance with them. No need to push them any further - leaving me free to turn my full attention to the greater challenge on my right. 

"What say you - may we agree to _forget_ this little incident?" Rosier flushed at the transparent reference to his duel. I held his gaze as I brought a piece of orange to my lips and swallowed it - then slowly, deliberately licked the juice from my fingers, half-smiling at him. He nodded agreement, looking a trifle dazed, and my smile widened as I turned at last to Delacroix. 

He looked back at me, unyielding, thin lips set in a stubborn line over his long jaw. This was more than personal rivalry - though he might have led in the game, if not for me - and more even than the usual tension between eldest sons, springing from the unspoken awareness that any of us might meet some day in a duel to the death. The Delacroix heir and I also faced each other across Valery blood spilled twenty years in the past. My mother's line. Each time we met, there was the promise: if the Valerys should fail to even the score, I will not. 

Tonight, however, I would be content to make him back down. The mood of the others had swung away from confrontation; he was alone, and knew it. 

"Shall we talk of more agreeable matters?" I asked, in a tone of exaggerated courtesy. "Rather a disappointing World Cup this year, was it not? Dismal performance by the team from Vienna." 

Caution fought resentment across the ill-favored features beneath his lank brown hair. Caution won. "Their Chasers were most unlucky." 

Several of those around us stopped holding their breath and eagerly picked up the thread of a new Quidditch discussion. I sat back, keeping alert this time, and held the conversation in my control for the short interval until the end of the meal. I did not rise until everyone save my two companions had left the table. 

"Follow me, both of you. Now." Raising a hand to Tamino and Valery, who had lingered in the Hall out of concern, I swiftly led my status partners to the dungeons. We went to one of the training rooms - and no sooner had the door been closed and spell-locked than Belcore found himself encircled by a ribbon of wrathful red and slammed against the wall. 

"Damn you, what were you _thinking_ in there?" The anger I had held in check broke forth at last. "Why didn't you do something as soon as they started that?" 

He returned my look calmly, folding his arms. "Maybe I found nothing objectionable in the topic of conversation." 

"That was a challenge, Aulus - an _attack_ on us - the topic doesn't matter - " 

"Oh, but it does! The attack was aimed at _him_. Wouldn't have been any trouble - nor any threat to you, or me - if not for _him_. And why were you caught dreaming tonight, Julius - could it have been because of him?" 

When Belcore was mildly annoyed - often enough - he tended to be loud about it. When he was seriously angry, he was quiet, his words stinging as they did now. He knew me very well. We looked at each other silently, trading four years of memories. Belcore at my side, all that time... 

"He's my status partner, Aulus," I said softly. "Mudblood or not." 

"And by extension, mine? You've dragged me into this - placing _my_ status at risk - without so much as a by-your-leave! Permit me to say this much: I don't like it." 

I released the ribbon holding him, and slumped against the wall at his side. "Gods, do you think _I_ like it? I'm hardly doing this for fun. But I believe it will be worthwhile - and the three of us will be stronger than two - eventually. If he can be trained to control what he does... You don't have to like it - but I need your aid now. Within the House. More than ever." 

He looked at the floor for a long moment, then back at me. "You have it. But don't ask me for too much, Julius." 

"I'll try not to." With a sigh, I moved away from the wall. "Any more questions?" 

"Yes - what in Hades were you playing at with Rosier?" His hazel eyes narrowed at me in suspicion. "Shall I wake up one morning to learn you have yet _another_ new status partner - this one chosen for his lovely long eyelashes?" 

"All that absinthe's gone straight to your head tonight - don't be stupid, Aulus! The _point_, obviously, is that right now Delacroix is berating him for making eyes at a half-Valery - while Rosier himself is contemplating sweet farewell to Delacroix, if he can have a Marvolo - _so_ much more to his taste, both for status and - " 

"And aesthetics. Quite." Belcore was calmer now, and grimly amused at that. 

"So by the time he realizes I'll never lay a hand on him, the two of them won't be on speaking terms. Satisfied?" I grinned at him, idly tapping my chin with the wand. "Though I might well give Rosier a dueling lesson or two - he really can't go on losing like that, it's not good for the House..." 

Belcore believed me; and it was true enough. There were good reasons for Slytherins to seek friendship - and pleasure, if inclined - outside our own House: in the end, all games played within Slytherin became part of _the_ game. Few chose to take that path. I myself had only ever shared intimacy with Carus Tamino, whom I would trust with my life and beyond - and who was not a Slytherin, nor even from one of the great families. Within the House, there was no need for me to do that for status, nor any great temptation to do it for pleasure. 

"Speaking of dueling lessons - what about _him_? Starting tonight, are you?" Belcore pointed at the boy, who had retreated to a corner as we argued. 

"Oh yes - what better time?" I had to laugh. "I'm so tired he may knock me senseless with his first jinx. No, Aulus, don't go - I'd like you to stay for this. Come, here's your chance to throw a curse or two at me! You really want to right now, don't you?" 

I beckoned to Dumbledore Minor, who peered up at me cautiously as he came forward. 

"You're not angry - about the pumpkin juice?" 

"Not this time. I rather think you saved my skin in there, with your exploding goblets - I was about to do something very foolish." He looked relieved at this, if still confused. "All the same, I'd sooner we didn't do anything like that again. Agreed?" 

"Yes, Marvolo." 

"Splendid! Now, draw your wand, Mudblood - since you seem to be in a fighting mood tonight, let's play with some hexes. Ready?" Even as I said it, I couldn't hold back a yawn. Behind me I heard Belcore laugh, and a moment later his absinthe flask was in my hand. 

"Hold on to that, Julius. You're likely to need it more than I do." 

I took a long drink, and a deep breath. Time enough later to teach him spells which would be useful in a fight. Right now I had to remember that he was entirely ignorant of this type of magic; and so, he would first have to discover how it felt to aim a spell at another person, deliberately. 

"We'll start with something quite harmless," I said lightly. "It's called a Tickling Charm. Looks like _this_." Spinning around, I pointed my wand at Belcore's side. "Rictusempra!" 

Belcore reeled, clutching at the place I had struck, gasping for breath as laughter overwhelmed him. "Blast it - I wasn't - ex-expecting that!" He fumbled for his wand to perform the countercharm, while Dumbledore Minor watched, intrigued. 

"Purely a demonstration, Aulus - how kind of you to help." I waved a few silver stars in Belcore's direction before proceeding to show Dumbledore Minor how to deflect that spell. He copied my wand's movements, awkwardly at first, then smoothly enough. 

"Good. Now I'll cast it at you, and you try to block it. Ready?" At his nod, I sent the Charm slowly toward him - and block it he did. 

After giving him an approving smile, I exchanged a cautious glance with Belcore. The next step was obvious... but in truth, neither of us felt eager to be on the receiving end of the first spell this particular young wizard directed at someone else, no matter how harmless the spell. 

"You'll cast it at me," I told him firmly, hoping I wouldn't meet the same fate as the pebbles. "And I'll not block it. There's something you need to know here." 

His left hand rose, pointing the wand at me; then he faltered, biting his lip. 

"Aim for his midriff." Belcore broke the sudden.silence, sending me an innocent look. "Only trying to help, Julius." 

"Oh, very helpful! Cease your smirking, you'll be next." I turned back to Dumbledore Minor, who stared at his wand as if it were about to sting him. "Come, Mudblood - you've seen what this Charm does - now use it! _Focus_." 

"Rictusempra!" 

I had to make a conscious effort not to block the spell - allowing it to strike and send me to the floor, laughing wildly. He had indeed taken Belcore's advice about where to aim, and it felt like being tickled with a hundred feathers at once. As soon as I had cast off the Charm and could speak again, I moved to his side, anticipating the next question. 

He still held the wand ready, but his right hand was pressed to his own stomach. "I - I felt that! A little - Was I doing it right?" 

"Exactly right. Well done. And yes, you felt it - or rather, what you felt was an echo of what you did to me, in the source of your power to do it." 

His eyes widened at that. I'd never seen him look so interested in one of my explanations. 

"When we reach out to touch others with our spells, whatever we do to them is sourced in our own capacity to experience it." I spoke slowly, carefully. "Empathy, it's called." Watching him closely as he followed the implications. _Yes, ask it_... 

His eyes moved to Belcore, then back to me. "The - the spells that _hurt_ - like in that duel... them too?" 

"Oh, most assuredly." A note of relish in Belcore's reply. 

Dumbledore Minor swallowed hard. I could almost see his thoughts fly back to what Rosier had been doing to Foxon. 

"And as you learn to cast those curses, you will also learn to withstand and control your own response. It will not be entirely painless." I held his gaze, testing him. "What say you - shall we continue?" 

"Yes." His answer came in a low voice, but it was quick, and there was no hesitation behind it this time. 

Much relieved, I smiled broadly at Belcore. "I declare, he'll be the terror of the challenge floor! Your turn to show him something - I await my fate." 

"Ah well, if we're indulging in the most _juvenile_ spells..." Belcore aimed his wand at me, as I made a point of hiding mine behind my back. "Vermisauricula!" 

Now I was truly thankful for the Privacy Charms set in place on our training rooms. At least no one else would see the dueling champion of Hogwarts with worms coming out of his ears. 

Belcore was starting to enjoy himself. "How long since you felt that one?" 

"Five years, at least - and yes, it was Lucan!" The Valery twins had been nine years old when they found their power, two years after I found mine. When I thought back to that year, it seemed like one long blur of spells - Lucretia vowing to catch up with me if she had to practise day and night; Lucan trying out the most ridiculous hexes he could find; the three of us running wild at Valery Hall, playing pranks on the twins' elder brother whenever he was home from Hogwarts. Yes, I remembered the Worm-Ears Hex. 

Now I performed the countercharm on myself, watching my status partners. Dumbledore Minor moved more confidently this time in blocking the spell. And while he did seem slightly apprehensive as he prepared to cast it, I suspected that he found just as much satisfaction in hexing Belcore as Belcore had in hexing me. 

Grimacing, Belcore shook off the worms and worked his own countercharm. Dumbledore Minor had done the spell perfectly - and I told him so, which brought a fleeting smile to his face. The smile faded as he looked from me to Belcore, clearly wondering what else was to come. 

I took another drink from the flask, fighting back my fatigue. This was all going more smoothly than I had expected. No accidents... yet. No sign that he truly didn't wish to continue. I decided to try a more direct approach. 

"Let's spare poor Aulus this time, shall we?" I pointed my wand at Dumbledore Minor. "You're about to feel a brief burning pain in your hand - nothing too dreadful, I assure you, merely a little jinx that sometimes catches people by surprise and makes them drop their wands. Could be useful. Ready?" 

He nodded. I saw his knuckles clench on the wand. 

"You may choose to scream, swear, or think what fun it'll be to do the same to me in return," I told him. "But if you run off - or conjure up so much as one spider - this lesson is _over_." And as he smiled at that, I called out: "Ustulo!" 

I released the spell after the briefest second; he winced, but didn't drop his wand. Rubbing at his hand, he gave me a curious look. 

"Did that... did it hurt you to do that?" 

I laughed. "No, not in the least!" As he still looked puzzled, I tried to explain. "It was only a minor jinx. There are ways to suppress that echo of response in yourself, you'll learn them... Mudblood, I found my power when I was seven years old - another trait of the Marvolo line, we start young - and my Dark Arts training began the same year. I can do much more than a jinx before it starts affecting me." 

"Damned Marvolo precocity," said Belcore dryly. "I swear, some people actually _complained_ when you worked Cruciatus in third year. Most entertaining." 

Still laughing, I turned back to Dumbledore Minor and showed him how to deflect the spell. This time Belcore cast it, and I nodded in approval as it was blocked, pleased to see the boy picking up defensive skills quickly. He would need them. 

"You, on the other hand, _will_ feel it. Go ahead. Cast it, now." Half-expecting him to refuse, I held my wand behind my back and waited. 

He braced himself and raised his wand. "Ustulo!" 

Perfect - he had aimed it at my free hand, and the brief burn felt exactly as it should. I disregarded it, my attention on his response. 

What I saw in his face was not pain, but bewilderment. 

"There was nothing - Did I do it wrong? I didn't feel it, Marvolo." 

Too much to expect, that he could get through a lesson in _anything_ without some sort of unexpected development... I raised my eyebrows at Belcore, who also looked surprised. Any novice ought to have felt a burn from working this jinx. 

We made him do it again - and again, to both of us in turn. Still nothing. Belcore and I downed some more absinthe, staring at him. This was - no, not a bad thing, but... disconcerting. 

I rubbed my eyes. "Oh, _Hades_... We'll talk about it later! Meanwhile, three spells are enough to practise with - come over here, Mudblood, let me show you what to do with a training-glass." 

The Slytherin training rooms were compact, high-ceilinged chambers, well-equipped with useful items for practising a variety of skills. I now led Dumbledore Minor to one of the room's four tall mirrors and stood before it, my wand held ready. 

"Very simply, it reflects spells. Like this." I launched into one of my own training routines, familiar from many hours before the glass in my chamber - though time for training had been sadly diminished since my rash acquisition of an elf and status partner. The jet of light from my wand vanished into the glass, meeting and merging with its own reflection, coruscating green and silver, red and black, following my murmured stream of curses and counter-curses. 

Breaking off in mid-routine, I turned to Dumbledore Minor - who was still staring at the glass, open-mouthed. Then he looked at my wand, and up at my face, blinking like a dazed owl. 

"Is it really so extraordinary? Come now, even Muggles must have mirrors." I never usually mentioned the Muggle world in his presence, but curiosity got the better of me. 

"It's not the mirror," he said slowly, shaking his head. "It's what you did - how can you just _do_ that? You looked like you weren't even thinking about it..." 

"I wasn't. An easy routine - I could work that sequence of spells in my sleep - and at this moment, that's almost literally true." I yawned again. "Anyway, I do believe I've spent half my life in front of a training-glass... No, I don't think about it. Now - you give it a try. Fire one of those spells at yourself, and block it." 

He chose the Tickling Charm. As its jet of silver light streamed into the glass, his gaze followed it in fascination. Needless to say, he entirely forgot to deflect it on its return path. 

I worked the countercharm and set him to practising all three spells in the glass, while Belcore and I sat on a bench along the wall and watched, stepping in whenever he required another countercharm. 

"Some odd Muggle trait, do you think?" Belcore reached for the flask. 

"I doubt it. If all Mudbloods were like this - we'd have heard something before, surely. And that Rictusempra was normal enough, when he cast it at me... Wonder what else he might be able to cast..." I trailed off, smothering another yawn. 

"More hexes, then?" 

"Certainly." I thought about this for a moment. "If it holds for more than a little jinx... well, think of the scope here - Measures of influence: surprise, intimidation. Most promising, I'd say." 

Belcore looked wary. "How far would you go with it, Julius?" 

I didn't reply, only sat back and watched Dumbledore Minor deflect Ustulo again. How far would he be prepared to follow me? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Notes:**

Like Chapter Two? Hate Chapter Two? Do tell me about it. I care. 

**Thank you** to all who reviewed Chapter One:   
Fidelis Haven, Tvillinger, Xenia - welcome to the Marvoloverse, hope you'll stay around for more.   
[*hugs*] to the folks from witchfics.org - I can't begin to describe how great you are!  
CelticFlame/Bree - how about another plug for that new list, Bree? :-)  
HP: Past, Present, Future (for time-travel, AU, and historical fics)  
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPPF 

teluekh, take 50 points for Hufflepuff - just for being yourself.  
**Phoenix Riddle** by teluekh: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=613321  
Julius, Aberforth, Young Albus, Lott, Switch, Tamino, and Lucretia arrive in the 1990s and meet the Trio. 

[*cheery wave to the other readers out there*] Yes, more is on the way. See you in Chapter Three. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Title:** Two Worlds and In Between (3/?)   
**Rating:** PG-13 for now, may change to R later   
**Summary:** The 19th Century history of the Potterverse: a saga with adventure, angst, romance (het and slash), ethical dilemmas, drama, betrayal, war, and lots of magic. Opens in 1855, at Hogwarts with the Dumbledore brothers - and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle.   
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The title is a line from _Lucretia, My Reflection_ - a song by the Sisters of Mercy. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**List for updates and discussion:** http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Marvoloverse  
**Author's notes at the end of the chapter.**

**Two Worlds and In Between**   
by Minerva McTabby 

**Part One: STATUS**  
Julius Marvolo  
1855 

**Chapter Three**

The third week of term passed in a blur. Lucretia summed it up best when she remarked that my letters now held fewer complaints about Dumbledore Minor, but more about almost everything else. 

The worst of it was a harrowing interview with Professor Lott, in which he made me give a full account of that confrontation at dinner. It didn't surprise me to find he knew of my performance in Higher Transfiguration, but I still had no answer when he asked why I had refused the Draught. 

An error of judgment, indeed. Lott was right - but my mind shied away from the memory, and as he ripped apart the status implications of that evening I could only stand there and listen, mute as Dumbledore Minor on his first morning at Hogwarts. 

"Does your personal status in that one class take precedence over your position within Slytherin? Or your own status pairings? Or the interests of our House?" Lott's opaque eyes held mine, and his tone was scathing. "Mr. Marvolo, if this is the best you can manage, I would advise you to give up the head of the table to young Malfoy with no further ado." 

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask whether he'd rather see it go to Delacroix - but I held back from that piece of insolence, leaving silently when he dismissed me. No, it would be futile to question Lott about Switch's behavior, and most unwise to bait him. 

None of us ever forgot his place in the world outside. 

Switch, Jigger, and Binns were the plebeians who headed Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. But Slytherin - with its primary purpose as training-ground for eldest sons of the great families - required a Head of House with enough power and status of his own to maintain authority. And so, we had Lord Gesius Lott, of the family ranked seventh in the greater game. He was admirably suited to the position. 

The Lott line was a new family, barely three centuries old. Its rapid rise had involved certain unconventional strategies, and taking up the role of Professor Lott was only the latest of these. Although time-consuming for him, it also brought many advantages - prominence, constant contact with a number of the families, opportunities to gather information and influence some future Lords. 

These two aspects of Lott - Professor and Lord - were usually kept in careful balance. However, one undeniable complication at this time was the presence in Slytherin of several eldest sons from families higher in rank than his own; I could imagine Lott looking forward to breathing a sigh of relief when Claudius Malfoy and Vesalius Delacroix completed their schooling. His own status in the greater game inevitably inclined him to favor seeing me at the head of the table, rather than either of my seventh-year rivals. Especially Delacroix. 

The Lotts were a line of ruthless, ambitious mavericks, with their primary strengths in the Dark Arts and Divination. This was also one of the very few families in which the wizards specialized in the Arts of Love - that half of the greater game ruled by witches. The Lott line had risen to seventh: a triumph for their skill on the dueling floor and in the bedchamber, their visions and their dark good looks. They remained unaligned, forming no permanent alliances with any other family. And for some decades now, they had been unable to rise beyond seventh - locked in rivalry with the Delacroix, who ranked sixth and would not be dislodged. No, Professor Lott would not be at all eager to see a Delacroix lead in the game within our House. Claudius Malfoy might be acceptable; there was no conflict at present between Lott and Lord Malfoy, who ranked second. But I was still preferable, from Lott's point of view. His relations with my father, who ranked an undisputed first, were cordial; and my father had wed a Valery - another family which detested the Delacroix. Lott had been well pleased when the Valery heir had sat at the head of the Slytherin table, before I took that place. 

In the wake of my talk with Lott I did some hard thinking, then moved to confirm my status within the House. 

Cutting down on my time in Central, I made my presence obvious more often in the Slytherin common room that week - studying, talking, joining in a few minor games. Finding an easy pretext to fight that sixth-year boy who had a cousin at Durmstrang - not a duel as such, it was over too quickly. Being particularly agreeable to Rosier, and watching Delacroix seethe. Very deliberately, I brought only one status partner with me: Dumbledore Minor. Message conveyed: Move against him, and you move against me. _Do not._

He trailed after me in silence, as always; no one else in Slytherin was speaking to him, not even those who tried to curry favor with me. But even with all the hostility and contempt he faced in the common room that week, there was still a sharp decline in his poltergeist-like outbursts - and I could guess why. A great deal of his energy was now going into a training-glass. 

My training-glass. A better model than those in the training rooms, and I had modified it over the years to suit myself: its response could be easily slowed to a crawl, for the initial work on complex combinations of spells, or commanded to reflect my curses with recklessly enjoyable speed. Now I made Dumbledore Minor stand before it and practise all he learned. Without a word of complaint, he did as I asked. 

Each evening that week, after spending some time in the Slytherin common room or Central, I took him to my chamber and taught him three or four new spells: trying out different types of magic - simple curses, hexes, jinxes, some defensive charms, and others which had nothing at all to do with combat. After that he would work with the glass for an hour or more, while I sat at my desk, reading and glancing up at intervals to see how he did. 

Strangely enough, those evening lessons with Dumbledore Minor became the most tranquil hours of my entire week. They vaguely reminded me of my own first experiences with a training-glass. I admitted as much to Lucretia when writing to request several extra books - I'd been studying harder than ever for the next Transfiguration class, determined to leave nothing to chance this time. 

Lucretia wrote back that yes, yes, this was all _so_ interesting and pleasantly ironic, and I was welcome to those books, since - here she sounded _very_ vexed - they were no use to her at this point. Her work on the spider spell mystery had run aground on insufficient knowledge of Alchemy - she could go no further without Tamino, yet he wasn't answering her owls, and _would_ I kindly use every measure of influence to shake a response from him? Then she slipped into a mocking set of Transfiguration runes, ostensibly a method for changing Professor Switch into horribly cloudy crystal - from the toes up, ever so slowly and painfully... I laughed till I choked, feeling better about the memory of that class than I had for days. 

Yet when I sought him out in Central, a distracted Tamino only waved me away as I pressed him to work on Arachniomnius with Lucretia. 

"I _will_ write to her," he replied, looking flustered, "but I _can't_ - no, not the spiders, not now, I simply can't! I'll work on Potions and reading with him, but it's less than a week to the Equinox - you _do_ remember my display idea, don't you?" 

"Ah." Hard as I tried not to let on that I'd forgotten all about it, Tamino still gave me a reproachful look. The Autumn Equinox was an important event for the Alchemy students; I wouldn't miss his display performance, any more than he would miss my Dark Arts display at Samhain, little as we understood of each other's fields... I gave in, settling on the window-seat at his side. "Tell me again, Carus - I'll listen, I swear!" 

Beaming gratefully, he embarked on a painstaking explanation. I listened, nodding and murmuring the occasional "How fascinating!" - while privately thinking that Alchemy had to be the dullest field of wizardry ever known. The point of it completely evaded me. Why would _anyone_ choose to fuss about with lunar phases, metallic oils, and the arcane reaches of Arithmancy - when Transfiguration was so much more direct? 

"And now that we're studying minerals, at last - " 

The gist of it was that Tamino seemed very pleased to be done with two years of plant Alchemy, and impatient to move on to metals after mastering minerals. His Equinox display would take advantage of certain properties of granite... I continued to nod patiently, not understanding more than one word in five. _Ravenclaws..._

In theory, of course, I did accept Alchemy as part of the great Triangle of Changes, the skills devoted to transforming one substance into another. Transfiguration, Potions, Alchemy: drawing on the power of heart, mind, and spirit. Rarely did anyone achieve Mastery - the highest level of wizarding power - in more than one of the three, but many chose to work with two points of the Triangle at lesser levels. The usual combinations were Transfiguration and Potions, or, as in Tamino's case, Potions and Alchemy. 

While I did well enough at Potions, I knew I would never become a Potions Master; that was not among my gifts, it had never been essential to the Marvolo line. I was, however, well on my way to achieving Mastery in Transfiguration - a Marvolo trait enhanced by my mother's Valery blood - as well as in the Dark Arts, our line's heritage from Salazar. There were only two Dark Arts Masters in Britain: my father and Gesius Lott. In a decade's time, when I came into my full power, I hoped there would be three. Maybe even four, if Lucretia fulfilled her early promise - and wouldn't that be a sight to see: the first fully-trained Dark Arts Mistress in over three centuries... 

"Oh yes? Music as well? How remarkable..." 

Apparently, _it_ - whatever it might be - would involve some granite and Tamino's lute. He had been experimenting with the use of music in Alchemy... Then, as if I weren't confused enough already, he smiled brightly at me and started talking about Divination. 

Of the four of us, only Tamino had the Sight - so only he was taking the most terrifying subject Hogwarts offered: Divination, as taught by Professor Lott. 

All students were tested by Lott himself at the end of their second year. Those who were found to have the Sight had to take at least a year of Divination, whether they wanted to or not; an entirely untrained Seer could only be a danger to himself and others, Lott insisted. At the same time, he was known to be merciless to his more advanced Divination students, throwing them out of the class if they didn't measure up to his standards. Quite unapologetically, he declared he wasn't about to waste his time on fully training anyone who lacked the required gifts. 

For us, two years earlier, it had felt rather like another Sorting. All second-year boys had lined up by name outside Lott's office, entering one by one to be tested. Some already knew they had the Sight; for others it came as a surprise, welcome or otherwise. Belcore, near the head of the queue, was one of those who hoped for it. He had come out of Lott's office looking extremely disappointed. 

I could make out neither regret nor relief on Albus Dumbledore's face after his test. He'd only shaken his head at some of the other Gryffindors, smiling slightly. No Divination classes for him, then. Neither did I myself expect to pass Lott's test. My plans for third year had centered around a place on the Quidditch team and the start of Dark Arts classes, in which I was certain to shine; Divination held no appeal for me. 

Thus, I had been calm as I walked into Lott's office and did what he instructed me to do. Slipping the signet ring from my finger and the gem from my ear. Unbinding my hair, which I had worn long at the time. Drinking the Potion he gave me, tasting earth and smoke. Then gazing into the fire, seeking visions which never came; neither did they appear for me in the water of the silver scrying-bowl. Lott had dismissed me, with a shrug and a half-smile. He would see enough of me in Dark Arts. 

It had been different for Tamino. He was pale when he emerged, eyes dark grey with whatever Lott's test has shown him. As Traherne went in for his turn, Tamino brushed past him to where Belcore and I waited with Valery. 

"I'm in." 

"Lucky little beast!" Belcore scowled, still smarting from his own failure. 

Tamino didn't seem to share that opinion. The look on his face was surely more than his usual fear of Professor Lott... I hesitated, but had to ask. 

"What did you see?" 

"Flames, Julius. Everything burning..." He looked away. "And you calling my name." 

Valery, Belcore and I had later discussed the possibility of getting him out of Divination - if he truly didn't want to do it. Tamino's family was plebeian, his father a scholar and potion-brewer in a corner of wizarding London, but the rest of us came from families with enough status to have some influence on Lott's decisions... perhaps. Not much of a chance, but we were prepared to try. 

Tamino refused our aid. He had even grown to enjoy his Divination classes; describing them in great detail over the next two years, and practising a bewildering array of techniques on us as well. Now, in his third year of Divination, he was confident in his gifts as a Seer - if still jumpy as a hare around Lott. 

"And then the spagyric resonances will be harmonized into manifesting!" His explanation drew to a close, leaving me none the wiser. Tamino grinned, very likely reading my mind, unable to resist trying to get a rational comment about Alchemy out of me. "So - what do you think of my configuration?" 

"Mmm... you're going to do a foretelling... with your lute... and some rocks?" 

He patted my arm. "Just watch me." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Reluctantly, I closed the book and pushed it aside, forced to admit that my mind could not absorb another word about multilateral conversions or focus shifts. The week had passed all too quickly, and the last class of the next day would be Higher Transfiguration. Lott's questions still rankled - "personal status in that one class", indeed. I'd show him _personal status_. I'd show them all. 

Switch had provided some warning about tomorrow's task, but not much: only that it would test us on variety and speed. And Valery had laughed, saying it ought to suit me well - didn't I win almost every game of Changes I played in Central? 

I was not reassured. True, Changes demanded both variety and speed - players had to Transfigure objects in mid-flight - but surely tomorrow's task would be nothing like that. For a moment I pictured being compelled to play Changes against Switch himself; or, worse still, against Albus Dumbledore... Shuddering, I resolved to think of it no further until the class - yet found myself reaching for another book... before being distracted by a loud thump and a muffled "Oh, crikey!" from across the room. 

Dumbledore Minor lay on the floor in front of my training-glass, having failed to block a Leg-Locker Curse. 

I rose from my desk and moved to work the required countercharm, then helped him to his feet. He didn't thank me. Looking annoyed, he turned to face the glass again. 

"Before you go on - how are you finding Astronomy this week? Any less tedious?" 

He shook his head, and I motioned him back to his exercises; tonight they also included a harmless spell that turned skin purple, and a curse for sharp stomach pains. I sat on the edge of my bed, drawing up one leg to rest my chin on my knee, and watched him practise. He wielded his wand much more confidently than a week ago... 

His wand. 

I had noticed the wood, in passing - unusual to see rowan in Slytherin, it was far more often found in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff - but now it occurred to me that with one thing and another, I had neglected to ask a very obvious question. 

"Mudblood." I intercepted his hex as it entered the glass; he turned to face me, startled. "What is the core of your wand?" 

He shrugged. "I can't remember... Is that important?" 

I made myself close my mouth before my expression could grow too absurd. They did not use wands where he came from, I repeated silently. Muggles. He didn't know any better. And yet, even so... how could any wizard not remember every detail of the day he was chosen by his wand? 

We had planned it for months - no, _years_ - breathless to cast aside the small, limited wands of our childhood and seek out those we would use as grown wizards. It was a ritual - a month before starting at Hogwarts, Lucan and I would be chosen by our wands. Lucretia refused to be left out; and my Aunt Clarissa, Lady Valery, though she carried no wand herself, wanted one for her gifted daughter as well as her sons. 

And so all three of us had gone together, escorted by my father and my aunt. No common Floo powder for this occasion; my father and I had soared north in his carriage, across the water to the Gower Peninsula to collect the Valerys, then due east to London. There had been much cheerful arguing along the way about which wood or core was best for certain skills; Lucan cringed at the thought of unicorn hair, while Lucretia pestered my father for his opinion on the merits of yew, ebony, hawthorn, and every other wood she could think of that might be suitable for Dark Arts, Transfiguration, or even the Arts of Love. We were still giggling at the notion of a Marvolo heir with a willow wand as we walked into Ollivanders. 

The charmed silence of the tiny shop seemed to glow with power, sobering us immediately. Old Ollivander had risen to bow his greetings to Lord Marvolo and Lady Valery, giving the three of us a grave smile. Young Ollivander, a wiry youth who looked to be barely a year out of Hogwarts, was already dashing back and forth, taking down wands from the shelves and laying them out before us. 

"Ladies first!" he said brightly, winking at Lucretia. 

I could remember her squeal of delight when the wand that chose her proved to be an elegant little creation of elder-wood and dragon heartstring, nine and a quarter inches. Black sparks streamed into the air - and kept streaming, since Lucretia wouldn't stop waving the wand, not even as she embraced her mother. 

"Elder! The wood of the witches! Oh, Mama, I can do _anything_ with this!" 

She remained at Aunt Clarissa's side, watching Lucan try out one wand after another. He must have gone through over thirty of them before a jet of gold sparks proved he had been chosen by a twelve-inch wand of dogwood with a phoenix feather core. As Lucan waved it triumphantly at his sister, I noticed my aunt's small, relieved smile. A good wand for a younger son; a favorable sign. 

Old Ollivander raised a snowy eyebrow at my father as I was led forward for my turn. "Lord Marius Marvolo... yew, thirteen inches, dragon heartstring - was it not?" 

My father inclined his head in tribute to the old wizard's memory, accurate across more than a hundred years. Meanwhile, Young Ollivander had seized a dozen wands at once, spreading them out like a fan in front of me. 

"Fortune guide the choice, young sir!" 

Fortune did. My hand seemed to move of its own accord, pulled by one particular wand. I grasped it and drew it through the air, holding my breath. 

The narrow shop suddenly filled with light as flames burst from the tip of the wand: a true wizarding fire, burning cold and bright. Burning silver and green and blue. I felt the wand reach into me, _recognizing_ me, transforming the link between us into fire. 

"Ah... Mahogany. Eleven inches. Dragon heartstring core." Old Ollivander nodded in satisfaction as the flames died away. 

My father's hand clasped my shoulder. "Mine burned like that also... I remember..." 

"A fine wand for Transfiguration!" said Aunt Clarissa, coming forward to kiss me fondly. "It's the Valery in you, Julius dear... Ginevra would have been so proud of you today." 

Then Lucan and Lucretia rushed to exclaim over my wand and compare it with theirs... We spent the rest of that day on Diagon Alley, driving the two adults to distraction by firing off hexes in all directions simply for the pleasure of using our new wands. 

Now I looked at Dumbledore Minor, feeling somewhat sorry for him - not having memories of such a day... 

"You truly don't remember?" I said, still curious. "Well then, give me the wand - let's find out." As he handed it to me, I added absently, "Who took you to Ollivanders?" 

He froze. When he replied at last, his voice was so low I could barely make it out. 

"My brother... and... Professor Switch..." 

"_Switch?_" 

But he wouldn't say another word - remaining stubbornly, grimly silent even when I worked a charm to reveal the core of his wand. 

"There you are - rowan, ten and a half inches, dragon heartstring!" I sighed. "That core's a _good_ sign in our House, Mudblood. Would you care to try looking slightly happy, or even interested?" 

My attempt to cheer him with the prospect of his first flying lesson the next day was likewise ineffective - now he actually looked frightened as well as sullen. Baffled and exasperated, I gave up, handed him the wand, and escorted him back to the first-year dormitory. The door closed, and I caught myself thinking irritably that the wand which chose _him_ had been extremely eccentric. 

As I passed the common room on my way back, Belcore reeled out into the main corridor, looking very pleased with himself. His eyes lit up when he saw me. 

"Julius! I was looking for you - " 

I had to drag my thoughts away from that puzzling reference to Switch. "It went well tonight, then?" 

"_Very_ well." His smile widened as he moved to walk beside me. "No further arguments from that quarter, I'll wager, not after what we showed them - oh, you should have seen the _shudders_ - " 

"Your Grim, I presume?" 

"Ah, no. Lucan's, actually... Well, we've spent all week composing this illusion - and he just makes a better Grim, that's all. Never seen anything like it..." Belcore shrugged, looking abashed for a moment. "So we decided he'd do the Grim, I'd do the forest, and we'd both do the unicorns." 

"And how did you end up working the finishing touches?" 

"Oh, he took care of the scents." Sensible enough; adding scent to an illusion usually involved some Transfiguration, and Valery was stronger than Belcore in that field. "But the Trepidation Charm at the end was mine - and I swear nobody caught it, apart from Malfoy and a couple of the top Ravenclaws!" He was grinning in sheer triumph now. "All the others merely... experienced the effects." 

I smiled back at him. That was indeed an achievement, to cast a reinforcing spell so subtly across all of Central. "Don't tell me it made Carus look up from his books?" 

Belcore rolled his eyes. "He had the lute tonight. Stopped playing it just long enough to watch our illusion, then started up again - I think Lucan was a little put out... But we did make those damned Weasleys look like first-years - and that was the point, after all." 

As Tamino and I withdrew into our respective tasks that week, Belcore and Valery had plunged into a determined effort to counter a challenge. Two fourth-year Gryffindor brothers had clearly spent the whole summer practising spells intended to impress everyone in Central. They did attract some attention, being undoubtedly talented at Charms; yet as I watched them turn a wall into an apparent sea of green flames a few days earlier, I'd found their performance lacking in depth. Illusions based on Charms alone seldom went further than the visual. Truly skilled illusion-weavers drew on other arts, appealing to other senses. 

Belcore and Valery could work very well together when they shared a purpose - in this case, it was to "put those plebeians in their place", in Belcore's words; and the two of them worked out a complex, clever scene enhanced by some Transfiguration from Valery and a touch of Dark Arts from Belcore. I was sorry to have missed the spectacle of Central transformed into a forest, with a herd of unicorns being hunted by a Grim. The regret brought my thoughts back to _why_ I had missed it... I walked on without another word until we reached Belcore's chamber. 

He raised his wand to lift the door-wards - then paused, tilting his head, studying me. "Why the long face? Having trouble with _him_?" 

I bit my lip. _Yes_, I wanted to say. _Yes, he's taking in spells like a quill absorbs ink - but he still thinks like a Muggle, and I want to start him on Healing even though you and everyone else will call it lunacy, and... and he won't talk to me, but he's said the most extraordinary thing about Switch... and I don't know what to do, Aulus._

I looked away, fixing my eyes on the Belcore crest which marked his door. No, there were some things I simply couldn't say to _this_ status partner, eldest son and heir of the family ranked ninth. Not without starting another argument, far too late into the long evening of a long day in a particularly exhausting week. 

"Nothing of importance." I forced a smile, raising a hand to cut short his offer of absinthe and a detailed account of events in Central. "My thanks, Aulus, but it grows late, and I still have some work to complete. I'll see you at breakfast." Then I turned and walked off before he could press me to stay. 

Although midnight had passed, the corridors of Slytherin were busy. I caught a glimpse of Delacroix gliding down a side-passage with another seventh-year; then a group of third-years were quick to move out of my way. Still, apart from exchanging a brief greeting with two of my year-mates - Quarles and Herrick, setting out with their brooms for a spot of night-flying - I managed to reach my chamber without being drawn into any further conversation or confrontation. 

The familiar routine of lifting my own door-wards and setting them in place again felt soothing that night. So did the silence of my chamber, broken only by the crackle of the fire lit by house-elves while I had been gone. I drew closer, leaning on the chimneypiece, and found myself staring at the painting hanging above it. 

"Lumos," I whispered, raising my wand. I wanted to see the colors of the sky and the sea, and the castle walls towering over the stark cliffs of the promontory. There - I could almost hear the call of the sea-birds, the dull roar of waves crashing against those rocks; the sounds of my earliest memories. White foam danced in the painted sea, beckoning. Somewhat to my own surprise, I felt a wave of longing to be home. 

This made no sense at all. While I often felt that way in the spring - and promised myself that once my schooling was done I'd spend every spring at home - now the Hogwarts year had barely begun. And yet... in the privacy behind my door-wards, I allowed my mind to wander; if I were home, right now, I could walk along those cliffs, fly over those blue-green waves. I could climb to the highest tower and spend hours gazing out at sea and sky. Then descend to the lower halls again, to rest in my own chambers, or seek out my father in his... 

Ah. That was it, of course. I wanted to talk to my father. Yet I did not. 

Besides, even if I were at home, on that distant Cornish coast, my father would not be there. He was in the Pyrenees this week - following brief visits to Transylvania and Rome. He might be in London next week, for a few days, but he and I would not meet again until Yuletide. Unless... No. I scowled into the fire; no, I would not use it. 

Those of us who had our own chambers - all prefects, and any other students of sufficient wealth and status - were permitted to use the fires to speak with our parents, no one else. Lucretia often asked when this "foolish rule" would be abolished, and many students had tried to get around it - but Lott, Switch and the other teachers were firmly opposed to unrestricted communication by fire. And I had never yet contacted my father through the flames during the school year. Doing so now would be equivalent to admitting that I was in trouble. 

I had written to him, of course, to break the news of my new status partner. His response - delivered from Athens by a weary postal owl - had been brief, and very mild, though my father could be as vitriolic as Lott about the Muggle world. But he seemed inclined to treat the presence of Dumbledore Minor as a jest - something I would soon tire of and give up. In closing, he merely warned me against acquiring any Muggle habits, and told me to let him know if I got in over my head. 

Abruptly, I swung away from the fire and the painting above it. I was _not_ in over my head. I was only tired, I told myself, and not thinking clearly. No letter to Lucretia tonight; I'd write tomorrow and give her some good news after that Transfiguration class. As I slipped out of my robes and into a sleeping tunic, I made a list of matters which required my attention the next day: I would question Dumbledore Minor about Switch, congratulate Valery on his masterful Grim illusion, try to remember if any other Mudbloods had ever studied Healing and Dark Arts... and I'd certainly do some exceptional work in Higher Transfiguration. 

The Marvolo serpents on my bed-curtains seemed to writhe, and I felt another odd twinge of yearning for sheer cliffs and high castle walls. 

"Nox." 

Wand-light and lamp-light vanished; only the flames in the fireplace remained. I watched them for a long time before I slept. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When the Headmaster appeared in the Great Hall for breakfast, anyone who believed in omens might have known it would prove to be an interesting day. 

Heads turned and conversations stopped short as Professor Sarastro Trelawney made his unhurried progress from the doors to the High Table. His smoke-colored robes were perfectly matched to the cloud of grey hair streaming out behind him, stirred by a breeze that touched no one else. Oblivious to the whispers all around, he drifted forward, large eyes fixed on something visible only to himself - finally taking his seat in the great silver chair at the center of the table, a place which usually stood empty. Professor Lott, seated at the Headmaster's right, wore his most inscrutable expression. Switch, at his left, raised a hand in greeting - then, receiving no response, shrugged and returned to his meal. 

"That's five Sickles you owe me, Herrick!" Belcore called out. The other boy grimaced, but paid up quickly enough. A number of similar sums were being claimed at our table and elsewhere. 

"What was the wager?" I asked. "Equinox, or Samhain?" 

"Equinox. Since he missed the Sorting this year - a new low, do admit - it seemed more likely he'd make an appearance soon." 

"Luck, Aulus, pure luck. When was the last time? Beltane - or earlier? I'd not wager on seeing him again this side of Yule!" 

"No matter, I have my Sickles. I say - is Carus paying attention, do you think?" 

We both turned to wave at the Ravenclaw table, grinning as Tamino sketched a suitably rude rune in the air at us and buried his face in the book he was reading over breakfast. As his friends, we felt obliged to warn him of the fate awaiting those who sank too far into the shadowy reaches of Alchemy and Divination: he'd end up exactly like Trelawney by the time he was a century old. We told him so, at every opportunity. 

"I smell cinnamon." The small voice on my left sounded even more confused than usual. "Is it magic, or real?" 

I winced inwardly, seeing the looks exchanged by those who had overheard Dumbledore Minor's words. Several Slytherins, Belcore among them, appeared to be barely restraining the urge to correct his definition of _real_ - painfully, if possible. 

"Indeed," I said lightly, distracting them. "The Headmaster's doing - a different scent each time, though no one knows quite how he works it. Not Transfiguration, for certain. What was it last time - cloves or honeysuckle?" 

"Cloves for Beltane, as I recall," said Belcore, nodding at me and looking away from Dumbledore Minor. 

"Mint, right after Samhain," added Warrington. "Don't remember the time before that..." 

"Oranges." Rosier had to raise his voice; he had moved three seats down the table over the past week. Now he glanced at me - and away again, a slight flush touching his cheeks. "It was oranges for last year's Sorting." 

"Why, so it was," I replied in my most agreeable tone. "It seems your memory is _quite_ recovered, Perrin." He looked up, eyes widening; my casual use of his first name was enough in itself to bring him one place closer to the head of the table. With a hint of a smile, I went on. "By the way, would you care to train with me tomorrow? I'll be practising some new designs, and your aid would be most welcome." 

Though I wasn't looking at Delacroix as I spoke, I did hear the clatter as he dropped his knife, and knew others had been watching. Belcore trod on my foot under the table, but I ignored him, well pleased with Rosier's swift acceptance of my offer. And then, as I buttered another piece of bread and prepared to give Dumbledore Minor a brief account of the Headmaster's character, we were all diverted by the arrival of that morning's post. 

As usual, I looked for the four small, swift black owls flying close together. Lucretia kept a dozen of them, so well-matched that it was hard to tell whether I ever saw the same bird two days in a row. Now, one swerved toward the Ravenclaw table - no Howler - so she was being patient with Tamino; while another sought out Valery among the Gryffindors. The last two flew in unison to perch on the shoulders of myself and Belcore. 

"Scaria, is it?" I ran a tentative finger across the owl's head; he clicked his beak to let me know I had guessed his name, then grabbed half of my bread as I untied the scroll from his leg. 

Belcore had already torn open his letter. "Ha! I knew she'd want that Trepidation Charm, Julius - says she'll use it next time the Hornby witches come to call..." 

But I didn't hear his next words, for at that moment I saw the bird which had waited to make its entrance once the others had dispersed. My father's great grey owl, majestic at rest and even more so in motion - now gliding across the Hall, to fly low and very deliberately along the entire length of the Slytherin table. I smiled, relishing the sport in this. Even an owl's flight could be used to emphasize status, to draw attention to my place. His lesson, as ever: all gestures are messages to be read, all actions are part of the game. 

"Here, take Scaria for a moment - " Disregarding Dumbledore Minor's yelp, I moved the smaller owl to his shoulder as the great grey settled on mine. The weight was considerable. "Hawise," I said softly, stroking her beak. "Welcome. What have you brought me?" 

A low, pulsing hoot echoed in my ear as she extended one huge claw to offer me a scroll sealed with the Marvolo crest. Opening it, I saw it was only a brief note, to inform me of his affairs and tell me I was in his thoughts. Then I caught another scrap of parchment as it fluttered free of the main scroll. 

"He's back in England, then?" Belcore tucked Lucretia's letter into his Charms textbook and reached for more pumpkin juice. 

"He is... Norfolk, in fact - yes, he does say he'll be seeing your family... and then it's on to London, for a gathering or two where he needs to be seen..." Although my father didn't mention that Lord Lott would be there, I knew well enough they would meet to discuss my performance within the House. Impatiently, I dismissed that thought, busying myself with the owls. Scaria abandoned his efforts to coax some food from Dumbledore Minor; with a last nip at my finger, he took off to join Lucretia's other three owls. Hawise graciously accepted a whole kipper before departing, probably to visit the Owlery - my own bird, Thopas, had been one of her nestlings. 

"Care to try a new toy, Aulus?" I pushed aside my plate and placed the smaller piece of parchment on the table. Belcore leaned over it, intrigued by the pattern of clouds moving across its surface. 

"He says he got it from a slightly mad Seer in Perpignan," I explained, drawing my wand. "This fellow claims to have crossed Imperius with Veritaserum and embedded the result in parchment with an Unfogging Charm. Guaranteed to tell you precisely what you don't want to hear!" 

"This'll send Carus into fits," said Belcore, delighted. "How do you work it?" 

"Like this." I tapped the parchment with my wand, saying, "_Though I take no heed, speak to me_." 

All at once, the clouds parted for a moment, revealing words written in startling, vivid blue: "_Stop thinking about crystal. Move on_." 

Though I tried to mask it as a discreet cough, the sound I made was more like a choked-off hiss. Fortunately, the only other man who would have understood an oath in Parseltongue was far away - doubtless speculating over what his gift might do to me. 

Belcore frowned. "I see nothing. Doesn't it work?" 

"Oh, it _works_... Here, try for yourself." At least the reply seemed to be visible only to the questioner. My relief mingled with amusement as I watched Belcore speak to the parchment and stare at its response: he turned crimson, springing up from the table and clutching his books to his chest. Though I could see no words among the clouds, it had evidently answered him. 

A fine toy, indeed. I wondered what my father was really thinking. Although neither of us had the Sight, there was a bond between us that could give him some awareness of my state of mind. The magic in our lineage ran deep through bones and blood, burned into our very form and spirit, from conception through maturity. Even if I had never known Marius Marvolo, I would have striven to fulfill the pattern laid down for the heirs of Slytherin - though without his guidance it would have been a perilous journey. The question was how much of that guidance I needed - or wanted - right now. 

The Slytherin table was no place for such thoughts. My housemates were watching me, clearly curious about the new artifact, though none presumed to look at it more closely without my invitation. I rose, gathering my books - then noticed Dumbledore Minor peering intently into the parchment's clouds. 

"Go ahead. Try it - if you remember the invocation." While taking this opportunity to remind the others of his status, I hoped he wouldn't botch it by backing away. I nodded encouragingly as he drew his wand and touched my father's gift. 

Several blue sparks flew from the clouds. Dumbledore Minor snatched back his wand, gawking at whatever message he saw - but before he could make any comment in the hearing of the entire House, I pocketed the parchment and led him away. Belcore was ahead of us, waiting for me in the entrance hall and doing his best to regain his composure. 

I grinned, waving a few green bubbles at him. "Cheer up, Aulus! Any magical object can be wrong... And _we_ don't have to use it again - we can have the fun of watching others instead." 

"Remind me never to visit Perpignan." Belcore sniffed, still embarrassed by his undignified withdrawal from the table. 

"Marvolo... so it could be wrong? What it said - it wasn't true, right?" My younger status partner sounded almost too hopeful. 

I paused, not certain how to answer him. "Why, what did it say to you?" Not a question I would pose to Belcore, but I felt no compunction about asking Dumbledore Minor. 

He looked at his feet, muttering something about flying lessons... and all at once, my exasperation of the previous evening returned. No, I did _not_ have time for any of his tantrums this day. There were more important matters to consider. 

"There's nothing to it, Mudblood," I said firmly. "You'll be like any other first-year - some know how to fly, some don't. Do what everyone else does. Truly, I don't see what you're so concerned about... it's all perfectly simple." 

His long nose twitched, and the pale blue eyes glared up at me suspiciously. "But - but brooms can't fly! They _can't_!" 

I looked around quickly to see if anyone had heard that. Luckily, his outburst had been lost in the bustle of the entrance hall as students made their way to the morning's first classes. 

"Nonsense. You've seen Lucan fly, haven't you?" The Gryffindor team, unchanged from the previous year, had started Quidditch training early; and I knew Tamino had combined Dumbledore Minor's reading practice with Valery's training sessions at least once. 

"It's different when it's _me_. I can't, Marvolo." 

"So he's scared of _brooms_ now," scoffed Belcore. "What next? Chocolate frogs? House-elves?" 

"What are house-elves?" 

"That's _enough_!" I probably sounded exactly like Lott, but I didn't care. At that moment, I found myself fully sharing his views on Muggle attitudes. Was I expected to explain all of the wizarding world this morning? "No more of that, Mudblood. We need to get you to Potions - and I'll tell you about house-elves, and the Headmaster, at luncheon - and this afternoon you _will_ get on a broom and you _will_ fly, together with all your year-mates. Understood?" 

Not waiting for a response, I pushed him toward the dungeons and the Potions classroom. After escorting him there, Belcore and I would have to run if we wished to avoid being late for History of Magic ourselves. I cast about in my mind for a useful short-cut, while still thinking of my father's gift - and what Lott might say to him when they met in London - and why the Headmaster had descended from his tower... and, oh _gods_, I was still thinking of crystal, and Higher Transfiguration looming ahead of me at the end of that day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

History of Magic was quiet. We were looking at the convention of 1692; I had skimped on the reading, and contributed very little to the discussion - though I was familiar enough with the outline of events to speak my great-grandfather's part with confidence when we acted out the key debates in the first half of the class. That particular Marvolo had been in favor of allowing the wizards of Muscovy to go their own way. Not a topic of great moment to me; there were far more interesting episodes in my family's history. 

I found it diverting to observe Tamino - he also said barely a word in discussion, being entirely absorbed in my father's parchment. I had shown it to him at the start of the class, and had the satisfaction of seeing him gape and beg to keep it until luncheon. Tamino usually held back from any games or artifacts that involved the Dark Arts, but in this case the Divination aspects were an irresistible lure. He must have questioned it over twenty times already, I thought as I watched him blush, make a quick note, and whisper to the parchment yet again. 

When the class ended, I was among the first out the door, leaving Belcore and my other housemates to crowd around Professor Binns - this young teacher was a general favorite, and, for all that he was the Head of Hufflepuff, tended to favor Slytherins, since we took the keenest interest in his subject. However, our next class was Potions, which meant I needed time to take Dumbledore Minor to _his_ next class and return to the dungeons. 

I took the most direct route there, but on approaching the Potions classroom I began to get a very bad feeling. The first-year class had only just been dismissed. The Gryffindors sent curious looks my way, and some stifled giggles. The eight Slytherins were huddled together, whispering to each other; when I frowned at them, they broke apart and started off down the corridor. There was no sign of my status partner - until the door opened and Professor Jigger peered out, beckoning to me. Dumbledore Minor seemed to be trying to hide behind him. My sense of foreboding deepened. 

"Ah, Mr. Marvolo." The Potions Master was either annoyed or amused; it was hard to tell. "When we last spoke, I believe you gave me your word that there would be no further... incidents." Raising an eyebrow, he waved me into the classroom and pointed up. 

A cauldron hung from the ceiling over one of the tables on the Slytherin side of the room. 

"I thought you might enjoy this opportunity to demonstrate your skill - by bringing that object down. Intact, Mr. Marvolo," said Jigger. Definitely amused now; but at least he was giving me the chance to correct this _incident_ before it went any further. 

"Of course, sir," I replied, trying not to stare at the cauldron. Then I turned to Dumbledore Minor, speaking in a fierce whisper. "What did you do to it?" 

"I don't know!" he whispered back, with an anguished glance at the ceiling. "I was stirring it - and thinking about flying - and then it just went _up_!" He was useless. 

"No matter. Go now, let me take care of this - follow the others - if anyone troubles you, hex him fast and tell me about it later. Go!" 

He stumbled out of the classroom, looking back at me over his shoulder. Dismissing him from my mind, I stepped forward to stand beneath the offending cauldron, intent on retrieving it before anyone else could see it. This would be another tale told about Dumbledore Minor by his fellow first-years, nothing more. No reason to worry. 

Jigger stood nearby, arms folded, watching me over his spectacles. 

I raised my wand. "Accio cauldron!" 

Nothing happened. The Potions Master gave a small, tactful cough, as if to say: I've already tried that. 

My fingers clenched around my wand; I gazed up at the cauldron hanging there like some bizarre fruit, its mouth firmly attached to the ceiling. I hadn't the faintest idea of what might be holding it in place, but I could think of plenty of spells to pry it loose. Reaching for the most likely of these, I started afresh. 

Unfortunately, none of them worked. 

I ran through spells designed to summon, to pull, to cut - singly and in combination. Still, nothing happened. The minutes dragged by as I worked under Jigger's scrutiny, and that cauldron wasn't a hair's breadth closer to the ground, and I was rapidly running out of ideas. My grip on the wand became tight enough to make my fingers ache. I felt like blasting the cauldron to pieces - yet doing so would mean admitting defeat, and Jigger had specified that it should remain intact. 

Voices behind me, the shuffle of feet as other fifth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors arrived. I felt the sweat break out on the back of my neck. Belcore. Valery. That they should see me like this... Calling Dumbledore Minor some choice names under my breath, at that moment I sincerely wished I had never set eyes on him or his cursed cauldron. _What in the name of sorcery had he done to it?_

"Well, Mr. Marvolo?" It was Jigger's signal that my time had run out. 

"It appears that I... cannot bring it down, sir." I looked him in the eye, striving to sound composed. 

He shook his head. "A pity. Evidently, we shall have to call on Professor Fitchett for assistance here - or perhaps Professor Lott?" 

_Gods, no._ Not Lott. I hoped my horror didn't show on my face, but I couldn't even bear to imagine Lott walking into this classroom to find me incapable of reversing an enchantment worked by a first-year Mudblood. I could think of nothing worse - yet an instant later I discovered a new definition of _worse_. 

"Let us begin the class, then," said Jigger, with a final glance at the ceiling. "Unless anyone else has a suggestion to offer...?" 

Then I looked on in disbelief as Dumbledore crossed over to the Slytherin side of the room, pausing to speak briefly with Jigger. I didn't hear what he said. My thoughts were an incoherent swirl: _No. Don't let this happen. He will fail - he must fail._

He stood opposite me, on the other side of Jigger. The face beneath the impeccably neat auburn hair wore a grave, resolute expression. No one else in the room made a sound. 

Dumbledore raised his wand, and a beam of white light shot out to envelop the cauldron, making it shine like the full moon. He held the spell - whatever it was - for a few heartbeats, frowning a little, then nodded to himself, and the light faded. 

He's failed, I thought. No change. 

Then he pointed the wand again, whispering some words I couldn't make out. 

Lightly, easily, his brother's cauldron floated free, descending to land with a soft clink on the table beside me. I made myself look at it as if no sight could please me more; then, because Jigger and our year-mates were watching us, I forced out the words: "My thanks." 

There was no reply. Without looking at me, he melted back among the Gryffindors, in his usual self-effacing manner. As if this were nothing extraordinary, nothing at all. 

Oh, Hades. I wanted to know _what he had done_. And I would have cast Cruciatus on myself rather than ask. 

But Professor Jigger felt no such inhibition. "Fine work, Mr. Dumbledore! Five points to Gryffindor for your assistance. Now, won't you let us know what you did to that cauldron?" 

"I did nothing to the cauldron, sir." That deep, cool, detestable voice... I ground my teeth and listened as it went on. "When I asked you what it contained, you told me the first-year class had been working on a grip-strengthening potion. I made an assumption, and tested it. The cauldron was not bound to the ceiling: rather, the potion was binding itself to both ceiling and cauldron. So I simply Transfigured the potion to water." 

Calm. I had to appear calm. The damage to my status from this debacle would only be made worse if I should show any sign of being disturbed by it. Thus, as the Potions class got underway, I went through the motions of participating, working on a rather elaborate elixir to induce sweet dreams. 

Lacewings, salamander skin, crushed scarabs... I measured and mixed, making it clear to Belcore that I had no wish to talk. A note arrived, very stealthily, from the Gryffindor side of the room; I set it aside unread. Sympathy was even less welcome than conversation at that point, even Valery's sympathy. Lucretia, now... yes, I might have spoken to her. But if Lucretia had witnessed that scene, she would have hexed Dumbledore on the spot, and the consequences be damned. 

He had succeeded where I had failed... yet it wasn't as bad as all that, I told myself. My initial fear had been that he'd used some convoluted form of magic which I couldn't match - and at least that was not the case. He had only... thought differently. Nothing I couldn't have done. And no doubt I would have found the same solution, had I not been so pressed for time - had Jigger not been breathing down my neck - yes, I _would_ have thought of it. Certainly. 

Still, I had no wish to see Dumbledore Minor. This was all his fault, curse him. Briefly, I considered sending him to sit at the foot of the table with the other first-years for luncheon... no, that wouldn't do, it was never advisable to display a rift between status partners. But I didn't have to speak to him. 

My potion gained five points for Slytherin at the end of the class, despite being quite the wrong shade of blue. Had the Master been anyone but Jigger, I might have suspected him of feeling sorry for me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

As luncheon began, I was still in a vile temper; my eyes kept straying to the Gryffindor table and various painful curses danced a random pattern through my mind. Then Dumbledore Minor trailed in after the other Slytherin first-years, and sat down beside me. 

"Potions - my cauldron - oh, what happened?" 

"Be silent," I said, softly enough not to be overheard, but more coldly than I had ever spoken to him before. "Not another word - or I will turn you into a statue for the duration of this meal." 

"But Marvolo... my cauldron - " He stopped speaking when my hand moved to my wand. I had explained the Full Body Bind a few days earlier. Now he shrank away from me, realizing it was no idle threat; perhaps also aware that no one else would object in the slightest. Certainly not Belcore, who was looking so smug that I snapped at him next, making him start and stare at me warily. 

Conversation at the Slytherin table was vicious that hour, as if reflecting my mood; it opened with the rumor that the Ravenclaw Seeker had finally seduced all three of the Hufflepuff Chasers, and grew wilder from there. As long as the names of my family and friends were kept out of it, this was a pleasure - no other house could gossip as wickedly as ours - and now I joined in the ebb and flow of talk, always taking note of who spoke to whom, tracing the minute shifts in status along the table. 

By the end of the meal we were deep into a discussion of that Squib from the Murrell line who had vanished into the Muggle world, only to set himself up in Essex as a "cunning man". The Murrells, a respectable family ranked seventy-third, were simply mortified. Almost everyone else found it highly diverting. 

"He's calling himself 'The Devil's Master' now," said Quarles, tossing an apple to Traherne. "Tells the Muggles he can defend them against Dark Arts!" 

"That's rich," said Malfoy, looking sceptical. "As if anyone's using Dark Arts on Muggles nowadays..." 

Belcore leaned forward. "Yet he profits nicely by it, so they say. The Murrells are never stupid, not even their Squibs. Muggle coin, but still... Heard of his 'witch bottles'?" 

I laughed with the rest of the table as Belcore described these unlikely artifacts and several others suggested tests of Murrell's abilities, based on what it might be possible to do to Muggles with the aid of Dark Arts. 

Then, as our housemates began to rise and disperse, I grudgingly turned my attention to Dumbledore Minor again, motioning at him to follow me, and led the way through the Great Hall doors, stopping in a corner of the entrance hall and drawing my wand. 

He had obeyed me, keeping very quiet. For most of luncheon I'd had the relief of pretending he didn't exist. I wanted that to continue. 

Now I waved at the staircase, where his year-mates were already on their way to the afternoon's first class. "I'm done with escorting you everywhere - you can take your chances. Go on, History of Magic next, then the flying class..." Pointing my wand at him, adding a promise to my next words. "And if I hear any more of that Muggle taradiddle about brooms, you'll regret it." 

Still silent, he looked from my wand to my face - and briefly at Belcore, standing nearby. Then he walked off slowly toward the staircase, hugging his books to his chest, not looking back. 

Tamino and Valery caught up with us a moment later. Valery had already been introduced to my father's parchment, but whatever it told him hadn't affected his high spirits at all. 

"I'm free till Switch's class - off to the library now, might even read something if there's no one amusing to talk to. What do you have next - Charms? You poor Slyths, _how_ exhausting, Fitchett's in full flight today..." 

As Valery's cheery chatter streamed past me, I noticed Tamino staring after Dumbledore Minor with a puzzled expression. 

"Gods, what _did_ you say to him? He looked perfectly dreadful - and why is he walking alone?" 

"Because I've had enough of being his nursemaid. Don't ask." 

"Mmm, yes, Lucan told me what happened in Potions..." Tamino seemed to be worrying about me again; he peered at me as if I were a novel kind of scrying bowl, and took a deep breath. "Julius, he is _not_ his brother. Stop taking it out on him! They're quite different." 

My wand was in my hand. If anyone else had dared say that to me... but this was Tamino, and I still had enough of a grip on my temper to hold back from casting curses while seeking the right way of telling him to mind his own business. 

Belcore replied before I could speak. "They're both Mudbloods. That's more than sufficient - and the school would be well rid of the pair of them!" 

"Nonsense, their birth has nothing to do with it," said Tamino, bridling. "Look at how they work, they're chalk and cheese - " 

"But they do share a veritable gift for annoying our dearest Julius - and we can't have _that_, can we?" Valery grinned at me, then made a show of deep thought. "Let's see... we could turn the little one into a Cornish pixie, and smuggle him out - Lucretia would be glad to have him in her menagerie..." 

I gave a reluctant snort of laughter. "Lucan, that's the most rational idea I've heard today. Very well, I won't - " But I was interrupted; it appeared that my first status partner had more to say. 

"_Mudbloods_, Carus! Not born among us." Belcore made a impatient gesture. "Not a question of their skill, but of their _loyalties_, in a time of peril - oh, why am I even trying to explain it? If you lack the understanding in your own blood - " 

Then he fell silent, seeing the look that flickered across Tamino's face at those last words. 

We were not in the habit of speaking to each other as if it mattered that Tamino was a plebeian, or Valery a younger son, or Belcore's family ranked ninth while mine ranked first. Elsewhere in our world, birth and blood meant everything. Between the four of us, that was not so. An illusion, worked and held in the name of friendship. 

Belcore's words had broken that tacit agreement. And he was right, damn him - for reasons reaching into the far past, to the origins of our fighting skills, the Dark Arts, and the game itself. Three of us were descended from the warriors of our kind: with an inborn revulsion toward the enemy, and vigilance against the untrustworthy - honed to its sharpest edge among the heirs, the players of the game. The fourth among us would never feel it in quite the same way. 

Tamino forced a laugh through the awkward silence. "Well, Aulus - you're free to think of me as your retainer, if it pleases you..." 

"That he's not! If you're to be anyone's retainer, you should be mine - " The poor jest was only made worse by Valery's clumsy attempt to cap it. 

"Oh, but I am that already, of course." Tamino's mild glance shifted to me, then back to Valery. "I follow where you lead - the two of you. As I ought. Is it not true?" 

I longed to tell him it _was not true_, but couldn't think how to say it in a way he would believe. Ignoring Belcore, I watched my other two friends hold each other's gaze, silenced by what seemed to pass between them. 

"Carus, _no_ - not true! I never meant - " 

"Leave it be, Lucan... So, I have Potions next, then Divination - Julius, may I keep the parchment a while longer?" Seeing my nod, Tamino turned away toward the dungeons without another word. 

Valery watched him go. "As if _I'll_ ever have any retainers, anyway," he muttered, shaking his head. Then he looked at Belcore, and his expression hardened. 

"Oh, well said, Aulus! No Mudbloods... then no plebeians, and then no younger sons, perhaps?" Valery was a weaker duelist than Belcore or I, but when his brown eyes flashed as they did now, his words became weapons without being spells. "Out to shape your own little realm, of lords and heirs alone? Why do you ever bother stepping outside your common room?" 

"I only spoke the truth!" Belcore defended himself, his voice a growl. "And have I ever held it against Carus that he's not high-born? He's my friend also - but he _does_ follow you around like a retainer - just as all of us follow - " He glanced at me and closed his mouth abruptly, looking away. 

I stared at both of them, shocked beyond words. This conversation had spiralled into something worse than any exchanges at the Slytherin table, and I was not in control of it at all. "Don't, Aulus," I said, far too softly. "Lucan, drop this now - " 

Giving me a cool smile, Valery went on. "Doesn't the game ever get a little dull, Julius? Feel like stirring it up? Why not cut him loose and form a cosy new pair with Malfoy - you can do that at any time, can't you?" Then he turned back to Belcore, with a mocking bow. "Do let me know when you're sitting at the foot of the table, or under the table, or whatever's the next fashion in your House... _Gods_, I'm glad to be in Gryffindor and well out of it!" 

Belcore only scowled back, as if any response would be beneath his dignity; but his face was a shade paler now. He looked down at his books, apparently absorbed in counting them, over and over. 

Valery waved a hand at the front doors, which stood open. "Sod the library, I'm going flying. See you in Transfiguration, Julius." And he was gone, long dark hair streaming behind him, racing down the steps as if his own Grim were chasing him. 

Belcore looked up. "Going to hex me now? Or work Imperio on all of us? You look like you want to." His mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Yet another blasted argument that never would have happened, if not for _him_... Think about that." 

He turned away and started up the great marble staircase, taking out his flask as he went. Leaving me alone in the crowded entrance hall. 

I stood there for a long moment, thinking of what my friends had said before going their separate ways in anger - especially what Belcore had said. 

I could do it. I was the strongest; I could indeed bind them all under Imperius, or work a Memory Charm. 

I wanted to do it. The sight of discord among the three of them made me deeply uneasy; and the notion of them not being there - that brought a hollow, perilous feeling, as if the cliffs of Tintagel should crumble, sending the castle into the sea... 

I would have done it, but I was sure it would make me feel even worse. 

With a sigh, I followed Belcore up the stairs to the Charms classroom. This whole day was _jinxed_. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Professor Fitchett made us work, assigning a series of fiendishly difficult Concealment Charms and their countercharms. Belcore and I barely spoke during the class, apart from exchanging spells; at the end of it, he brushed aside my attempt to detain him and strode off. 

I was the first to arrive for Higher Transfiguration. Traherne entered a moment later, having walked a discreet distance behind me; then Valery arrived, broomstick over his shoulder, face wind-reddened from flight. I looked away from the door as Dumbledore walked in, glancing instead at Valery while preparing my ink and parchment. 

"Shall we speak of it, Lucan?" 

"I think not," he replied, taking out his own books. "I'll speak with Carus - until then, leave it, do. After all, you didn't even look at my note in Potions..." He brushed back his hair, smiling at me in reassurance. "I am well enough, truly." 

The three Ravenclaws ran in together, laughing. Catching sight of me, one of them called out, "Ha, Marvolo! Why have you never favored us with the tale of Emeric the Evil Sheep?" 

Valery spluttered. Taken aback, I was about to ask Gerson why he'd gone stark raving mad - when Professor Switch walked into the room. With an armful of flowers. 

"Something smaller today, lads!" he said, casting a genial, measuring glance over the seven of us. He seemed in fine humor; I wondered if Jigger had informed him of the cauldron incident yet, then made myself dismiss the thought. 

"Let's give you some matter with a little life to it," Switch was saying. "You're aiming for variety here - consider it a review of materials, if you wish - use at least a dozen, please. And do try to work the change in one motion, nice and smoothly. Full points for speed and no repetition of substances! Here you are, yes, go on, get started - " He moved around the desks, handing each of us a large white chrysanthemum. 

I frowned at mine, trying to estimate the number of its petals - at least a hundred. One motion? _Gods_. 

"And a final point, before I leave you to it," said Switch as he returned to his table at the front of the classroom. "Time to remind you boys, once again, that Transfiguration is an _art_. Any wizard may work a change, but part of the path to Mastery is learning to Transfigure with meaning - yes, and beauty - so I'd like to see some of that today, if you please. Be creative. Show me something original. Now, get to work!" 

The flower on my desk was a lovely thing in itself. Studying it, I began to see Switch's intention: this time he offered us a tiny living canvas for our skills, daring us to attempt some intricacy in miniature. I found myself captivated by the challenge; this class, which I had dreaded all week, suddenly felt like a good place to be. 

"A dozen, did he say?" Valery's wand traced a series of fine glowing lines over the surface of his flower, dividing its circle into twelve segments. "Fine. A dozen it is. Think we're meant to change the stem as well?" 

"No, we're meant to _eat_ it! Really, Lucan..." My cutting reply was disregarded, as I knew it would be. And while Lucretia might have tried to chivvy her brother into showing more ambition, I left him to his work and turned to my own. 

It required fewer elaborate calculations than the previous week's task, but more precision. Three parts to it, I decided: the stem, the petals, and the heart of the flower. The first would be simple - smiling to myself, I thought immediately of the perfect material for it, something which could also serve to make a point. Transfiguring the petals would require considerable planning, if I wished to succeed in changing each to a different substance. The heart... I seized my quill and started scribbling down some likely combinations of materials. 

The world narrowed to the contours of the flower before me. I studied it, running through the changes I would work, almost certain that I could do it in one motion... maybe... probably, with sufficient concentration. Over a hundred materials - not instantly, but very rapidly, making all the changes flow together into one. Running a finger over the chrysanthemum's curves, I considered what would look best: should I change it from the top down, from the bottom up, in segments...? Then it came to me, the thought of what to do with the heart of the flower. The eye of the serpent. And all the other transformations growing from it, in an outward spiral. _Yes_... 

Halfway through listing the materials I would use, I was so lost in the task that at first I didn't even notice the insect land on my right hand, just behind my quill. When I did see it, I tried to flick it off. It refused to budge. 

Then I peered at it more closely as it began to crawl very purposefully over and around my hand, coming to a halt underneath it, in my palm - where I felt it change. 

With Jigger as their Head of House, Ravenclaws were forced to develop subtlety in their note-passing. This one was from Gerson, of course, working with Traherne at the desk behind me. Both of them, and the two other Ravenclaws, smiled at me rather oddly when I glanced around - so it was with some apprehension that I unfolded their scrap of parchment. 

Valery looked up from his flower at my soft intake of breath. Wordlessly, I showed him the note - then turned it back into an insect, solely for the pleasure of crushing it flat. A quick glare wiped the grins from the faces of Traherne and the Ravenclaws; but I knew there would be no way of stopping yet another quote from spreading around the school. 

According to the first-year Ravenclaws in his History of Magic class, Dumbledore Minor - using my family's name, as I permitted him to do - had seemed somewhat confused when Binns asked him how a certain Lord Marvolo, several centuries ago, had defeated Emeric the Evil. Yet _confusion_ was surely too kind a term for whatever perverse impulse had spurred him to declare that my ancestor turned his adversary into a _sheep_. 

Valery avoided looking at me, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter. 

"Stop that! I'll hex you, I swear, even if Switch takes points - " 

I certainly wanted to hex _someone_ at that moment. Damn the brat - I'd considered History of Magic a class relatively safe from any of his _incidents_ - and now, after everything else that had happened this day... With a suddenly unbearable intensity, I wished him gone from my thoughts and my world. 

Why was he here at all? When I tried to think back three weeks, I could no longer recall exactly what had moved me to make a place for him in Slytherin. Something to do with his talent, was it not? But the only talent I could see at present was his unerring capacity to disrupt my life and humiliate me in front of the whole school. 

I wished him gone, and I didn't know how it might be done - and I could _not_ think about it now. The flower on my desk was more important. I needed to finish planning my changes - and I had to make them good. Very good. Better than whatever his brother might do... 

I would not be humiliated again this day. 

Without knowing it, I'd turned to my right. I found myself staring at Albus Dumbledore - working alone, no doubt planning a performance to leave us all duly dazzled, and quite oblivious to the exchange between Gerson and myself, or the glower I directed at him. _He_ could work in peace on his task. _He_ would not be distracted by any foolish gossip, even if it did concern his fool of a brother. The long fingers of his right hand rested on the flower, as he covered his parchment with what looked like... lines? Curves? I craned my neck slightly to see the images there: he was sketching the petals, the stem, and the heart... 

"Mr. Marvolo, do you find another student's work more interesting than your own?" 

The sting in Switch's voice made me turn back to my own parchment very swiftly; yet still the images coursed through my mind - and I was thinking of Ollivanders again, the three of them at Ollivanders, both brothers and _Switch_... There my imagination failed me. Whatever could have drawn the Transfiguration Master to see an unknown Mudblood chosen by his wand? And why hadn't Lott mentioned this to me? Anything Switch knew, Lott knew; everyone was well aware of that - it was how the two of them ran the school, while the Headmaster drifted among visions in his Tower. 

And surely I was drifting as far as Trelawney, pondering all this while my work lay undone. With a muttered oath I took up my quill and forced my concentration back to the chrysanthemum and the sequence of changes I wished to use. The complexity of the task came as a relief. 

Working fast and furiously, I had managed to complete my planning and test a few changes when we were all called to the front of the classroom. With a jaunty wave of his flower, Valery moved forward to the Master's desk - but Switch stopped him. 

"Much as I appreciate your desire to _get it over with_, Mr. Valery... let's give others a chance to go first, shall we? So - you'll be working in order of age today." Switch glanced down at the scroll on which he recorded our names and results. "You may begin, Mr. Marvolo." 

With my sixteenth birthday fast approaching, I was among the older students in our year. Exchanging a brief, wry glance with Valery, I stepped up to the desk and levitated my flower into position, suspended in mid-air to give Switch and all the others a clear view. Then, thankful for a great deal of past experience in appearing more confident than I truly felt, I moved the spell into place in my mind and raised my wand. 

Begin. _Now_. 

Power streamed from my wand into the heart of the flower: it became a great emerald, faceted and flawless, drawing and holding all eyes with its cold green glow. _Marvolo green_. And then, seamlessly, the serpent uncoiling: I sent the sequence of changes I had planned spiralling out from the heart, petal by petal, as fast as I could. 

Amethyst, oak-wood, parchment, owl-feather, marble, charcoal, elm-leaf, toad-skin, gossamer... 

My hand trembled on the wand; unnoticeably, I hoped. Although the sequence was set, I still had to focus closely enough to command and guide each change - and the strain of doing it was almost unbearable. 

Ebony, ice, pewter, sapphire, fish-scale, bronze, gillyweed, verdigris, sandalwood, candlewax... 

On and on, circling the heart, screaming silently as my spiral of changes moved down along the curve of the flower, toward the stem, feeling a sharp pain behind my eyes, and reaching within myself to make the spell move _faster_ - almost there, yes, walnut, moth's wing, henbane, velvet, birch-bark... Gods, yes. _Done_. Only the stem remaining. Light-headed with success, I sent out one last command. 

_Crystal_. The best damned crystal I had ever made: the chrysanthemum's stem shone brilliantly, impeccably clear. 

I smiled, relaxing my grip on the wand, only holding the spell in place as Switch drew the flower toward himself for a closer examination. The spell seemed to be holding me as well; I couldn't take my eyes from the multitude of colors sparkling around the emerald heart. I felt my own heartbeat pounding, too fast. 

Let Switch look all he liked - he'd not find a single repetition; and he would be sure to notice the petals made of mead and butterbeer, to appreciate the extra effort involved in binding a liquid to that shape. I had done well, surely. More than well. Now holding the spell felt sweet, almost intoxicating; I wanted to laugh and laugh. 

"Admirable technique, Mr. Marvolo." Switch nodded slowly, giving the crystal stem a light tap with his wand. "Well done. Ten points to Slytherin." 

Oh, but _this_ made up for the rest of the whole disastrous day. Satisfaction glowed within me as I released the spell and returned to Valery's side; his delighted whisper of admiration made me feel even better. I had done my best with this task, and it had been enough. This night I'd write to Lucretia, the only one who would truly understand; I'd tell her every detail... I would do it, after I released the spell. Soon. 

No... I'd already released it, of course I had. Why could I still see the spiral, why did I feel as if I were still working the changes? 

Gerson, pale and anxious, was next after me. I watched him, and his chestnut-brown hair seemed to shine with its own light - then I looked around the room, and everything on which my eyes rested had that glow. Colors, colors I had never noticed before. Waves of color. Spirals... _Gods_. My head ached, and the room was too bright. 

Gerson managed to avoid repetition, but faltered to a halt several times before all the petals changed, and there was a long pause before he tackled the stem. With a small, disturbing smile, Switch told him to take his time. The hapless Gerson dropped his wand. 

My spell's intensity lingered, holding me in its coils. 

No Restorative Draught this time; presumably Switch didn't consider the scale of this task to require it. I clenched my fists and tried to think ahead, beyond the class. Dinner, sure to be a wretched affair - with that little demon sulking on one side of me, Belcore sullenly swigging absinthe on the other, and far too many Slytherins making snide allusions to sheep. I was inclined to find an excuse to avoid it, if not for some concern over what my status partners might do to each other without me... 

Gerson moved back to his place, making way for Valery. My pulse had slowed now, but my thoughts still raced, and even the black cloth of my robes seemed luminous, enchanted... No, I had to stop this, had to think clearly. I'd watch Valery work his changes, I'd think only of him... 

My cousin Lucan, two months younger than I. As he swung into his swift, simple pattern, my mind spun away into memories. The tale Aunt Clarissa had told me, once I was of an age to hear it: bearing the twins at mid-winter, so soon after her elder sister had died bearing me. The Valery witches, with their sad history of childbed... The courage it took for Ginevra Valery to wed Lord Marvolo, old enough to be her own grandsire, in full knowledge of what the ancient magic that shaped the heirs of Salazar required of the women who carried them. For her sake, my father had extended his protection to the Valerys in their time of need; while she had given him the bloodline he sought for its promise of an heir who would not fail. And she had paid the price. 

But now Valery was cheerfully accepting two points for Gryffindor, he was back at my side already - and surely I'd only been distracted for a few seconds, I couldn't have missed his Transfiguration task - yet I had. Alarm flooded a small corner of my mind. _Not right_. Whatever this was, I'd assumed it would pass, quickly; instead, it was growing stronger. Then the faint wisp of warning was lost among a dozen other sensations flickering through me, exhilaration and fear and calm well-being and perturbation all melding and merging, singing across my nerves. 

The classroom was too large. Too full of light, of colors... _Too much_. I had to stop this. 

A second Ravenclaw replaced Valery by the Master's desk, and raised his wand. 

I would _make_ myself stop. What had I been thinking of, before working that spell? I would think of it again, and everything would return to normal. 

Gerson. His tale from History of Magic. Dumbledore Minor. I'd been wondering how to get rid of him. 

A fresh burst of color as the Ravenclaw boy began his task. Colors rippling into more colors, extending into paler ghosts of themselves, trailing across my field of vision... 

_Dumbledore Minor_. I saw him silent beside me at luncheon that day - standing white-faced and hostile in a room full of spiders - hurling hexes into my training-glass, over and over, with all his stubborn determination - walking beside me through the Shuttle's cloud, the first night - glancing back as he left the Potions classroom that morning - asking me to show him how to fight... 

The Ravenclaw completed his changes. Some repetition, I could see it immediately - the flower seemed huge to me, unnaturally radiant - and a wisp of smoke arose from the heart; the change he'd tried there had obviously failed. 

I felt as if I were floating - or falling. I wanted to hold on to Valery's arm, but stopped myself, standing perfectly still. Even now, I could and would keep my face expressionless. Whatever was happening to me - _no one must know of it_. That corner of my mind which still made any sense at all insisted on this, with the urgency of a command. _All gestures are messages to be read_. The game. I'd not permit this to affect my status - I would fight it - 

Floating, flying from one thought to another, no control over the patterns - thinking of Ollivanders now, and the first sight of my mahogany wand. Oh, even the floor-boards were glowing, the wood I had changed to crystal here a week ago - bright, bright, and Lucretia walking with me up the grand staircase of Valery Hall, chattering about the Arts of Love - then it was summer again, all five of us gathered there, arguing over the most interesting charms to use in sea-bathing. And further, further back - to the day we had met Carus Tamino: with all the first-years gathered in a small room before our Sorting, Valery and I had amused ourselves by pretending to be strangers and picking a fight with each other - then, as we threw our flashiest hexes and several boys cried out in alarm, there was one slight, curly-haired plebeian who laughed - and kept laughing even when we threatened to hex him as well, grey eyes dancing as he told us what we could do with our hexes... 

Switch sent the Ravenclaw back to his place, with three points. 

I clawed my way back to the present, a fierce effort of will focusing my attention on the classroom, on Switch at his desk, quill in hand. Three points. Ten points. I would think of that, hold that thought until the end of the class; then I would work out what was happening to me, what I should do... _Ten points to Slytherin_. I had done my best - an exceptional spell, yes, for my part of the Triangle of Changes, my path to Mastery. Colors and light, eye of the flower, heart of the serpent, spiralling out and out again... I would be the best... 

Albus Dumbledore stood beside the Master's desk. 

What a dreary prospect, having to watch him twice in one day. Still floating, still fighting, I glanced past that cursed priggish look of false modesty which always made me queasy. I saw the prefect's badge shining silver against his black robes, the white flower suspended in mid-air, the dark red-brown of the wand... And then Switch nodded to him, and he began. 

I made no sound, there in the classroom. The game taught me to control every aspect of the semblance I presented to the world. No sound, as the stem of the flower turned to pure gold and my focus shattered to send me falling forward, helplessly, into the spell. 

I stood back next to Valery, looking on. At the same time, it was as if I myself worked those changes - resisting at every step - held, for all my revulsion, by a shaping of magic essentially different from any of my own. 

It was the power of the heart, yes, my point of the Triangle - yet not mine, _not mine_. I experienced Transfiguration as command, imposing my will on the objects of change. This power beckoned, persuaded, virtually _invited_ the changes into being as it drew the flower into its vision, fitting it to an image already complete. 

Caught by the colors, I watched the flower respond to the call. Streaming up from the stem of gold, circles of yellow, sulphur and primrose, saffron and dandelion, shading into honey and topaz and amber... I could feel the changes, see how the illusion of concentric rings was created: blindingly fast sequences for the petals within each ring, slowing slightly in between. Tones of red blending in as the rings followed the curves of the flower's sides, then moved inward toward its heart: ochre and carnelian, coral and garnet... 

The Transfigured flower shone with the hues of breaking dawn and kindling fire: vivid, beautiful, alien... The hairs on my arms rose in a shudder of gooseflesh and aversion as the force which called those changes carried me into the flower's heart. 

It became dragon's blood, steaming, burning with color richer than rubies. And in that instant I tore myself free. 

He held the spell, but I was clear of it: shaken, bristling in outrage, still seeing colors everywhere, and longing to curse him to shreds. The chrysanthemum glowed, its Transfiguration complete, perfect. Changes I could have worked myself, changes I'd never have chosen, changes I had felt as if through my own wand... _how_? 

Now Switch was examining the flower, smiling as he produced a few choice compliments for his pet... I ground my teeth. If the old gowk would only stop talking and hand out the inevitable ten points, we could move on and this class might finally _end_. The colors grew still brighter, and the floor swayed beneath my feet. _Get on with it_. Ten points to Gryffindor for a damnable degree of skill. My fingers twitched on my wand. 

Switch poked at a petal. "This one here - what is it?" 

"Raspberry jelly, sir." 

I couldn't hold back a soft snort. Dumbledore seemed not to hear, but Switch gave me a sharp glance and Valery's touch on my hand asked a silent question. 

"Well, Mr. Dumbledore - an excellent effort! Ten points." The Head of Gryffindor leaned back in his chair, favoring the flower with another approving smile. "And take an extra two points for your creative use of House colors." 

My wand moved even before I decided which of them the curse would strike - I wasn't thinking at all, simply acting on an impulse of rage - but Valery was faster. He caught my wrist, standing close enough for both our hands to be hidden by our robes, and I couldn't break his grip. 

The impulse faded. Valery released me; I stood in silence while the final two students, Traherne and another Ravenclaw, attempted the task - but as for what they did with it, I neither saw nor cared. My thoughts darted back and forth like a hundred Snitches, and I was lost in wave after wave of bitter, resentful confusion. 

House colors, forsooth. Nothing but an Alchemy student's tiresome obsession with gold and dragon's blood. No more. 

_Stop thinking about crystal_. Who had said that to me? Lott's voice, silky in reproof: _Does your personal status in that one class take precedence...?_

But I had not thought of status, nor of my House, nor even of which material might be the best use of the art of Transfiguration, the best complement to my flower's emerald heart. I'd sought to make a point - to whom? I couldn't remember. Yet it had been important, surely... 

That was before I'd felt the changes called forth - gently, inexorably - by a power not my own, and sensed I was not alone on the path to Mastery. 

In truth, all this was thoroughly baffling and discomposing. I wearied of it. More pleasant, by far, to watch the shifts of light all around me and let my thoughts float where they would. 

An unknown time later, Valery's tug on my sleeve made me realize Switch was dismissing us. Although the world outside my mind seemed very far away, the colors had grown bright enough to hurt my eyes, so I was glad to go. I gathered my books and wandered out of the classroom, vaguely aware of someone at my side in the corridor. 

Then Valery grabbed my shoulder and steered me into a privy chamber, hastily spell-locking the door before he swung around to face me. 

"What _is_ all this? Julius - whatever got into you, to try _that_?" 

The vehemence in his voice made me blink. "Try what?" 

"Did I or did I not keep you from hexing my Head of House back there?" 

I nodded solemnly. "_And_ your housemate - don't forget him! If ever anyone richly deserved hexing..." 

Valery started to speak, stopped himself, and peered at my face, frowning. I leaned against the wall, gazing back at him with detached interest. Everything suddenly appeared so very comical - especially the colors dancing on the ceiling. 

"Julius - " 

"Call me Marvolo, Master of Transfiguration!" A tiny ripple of laughter escaped me. "Wasn't that a _brilliant_ spell, Lucan? One of my best ever, you know. Good, wasn't it? Damn you, tell me it was _good_...!" 

"Splendid, magnificent, whatever you say... Now tell me what's wrong with you!" 

"Nothing's _wrong_. Feel rather drunk, that's all. Lucan..." I clutched at his shoulder, giggling. "Know what I'll do in next week's class? No, neither do I - but I'll make damned sure to use _Gryffindor colors_!" 

"You've done something to yourself with that spell, you dolt. And I'm taking you to the Infirmary, _now_." 

"Don't be absurd! I'm going to dinner." I lowered my voice, whispering in his ear. "Have my place at the head of the table, you know. Need to be there - stop status partners killing each other..." 

Valery turned away, muttering to himself; the only words I caught were _Slytherin_ and a few expletives. But I wasn't concerned about him, not when everything else seemed so wonderfully clear and deliciously droll. Colors, more and more colors, I'd be the best student, the best wizard, if I stopped thinking of crystal and used more colors, the right colors... I threw back my head and laughed aloud, sending cloud after cloud of rainbow-tinted bubbles from my wand. They filled the small chamber, and at the sight of them I laughed even harder... until a sudden deluge of icy water made me fall silent, gasping for breath. 

I looked from the pitcher hovering over my head to Valery, who stood by the wash-stand, wand raised. Water trickled down the back of my neck and dripped down my robes. For a moment I considered which hex would be the most appropriate form of retaliation - then decided that everything was good, even the water, so I'd forgive him. Sent a few more bubbles in his direction. Red and gold. Pretty. 

Maybe I wouldn't go to dinner after all. Let them kill each other, it would keep the rest of our House entertained. I hadn't had any fun all week... I'd even missed the illusion Belcore and Valery had worked the evening before. Now I might go flying for an hour or two - then to Central. I could relish a decent game of Changes, or a duel... And I might find someone to share my bed this night; suddenly Perrin Rosier didn't seem like such a unsuitable choice... Oh, but I wanted to do everything at once! Write to Lucretia, yes. Write to my father. Or should I start preparing right now for the next Higher Transfiguration class? 

I was in the act of turning to ask Valery this completely reasonable question when his spell hit me. 

The colors faded. Some of the addled euphoria drained away. I took a shuddering breath and braced myself against the wall, my head spinning. 

"I may be hopeless at Healing, but I can at least cast a Sobriety Charm," he said, looking me over rather warily. "How do you feel now?" 

"Odd. Better. I don't know!" I scowled at him. "But I wasn't actually drunk, Lucan - or did that escape your notice?" 

"I couldn't think what else to do!" Valery gripped my arms, shaking me. "Come, let's find Carus, he might be able to talk some sense into you - " 

"I'm perfectly well!" 

Moments later I was being violently sick into one of the privies, while Valery held me in a comforting embrace and called me horrible names. 

"You're not going to the Infirmary, are you?" he asked as he watched me clean myself up. 

"_No_. Imagine how it would look, should anyone learn I'd been ill after that class - no, I can't possibly. Do stop staring at me like that, I'm feeling much better - " As indeed I was, if I didn't try to think about what had happened in the classroom. To be sure, I would unravel it all later, understand it and master it - but not now, not while so much else remained to be done, not while any thought of my own spell... or that _other_ spell... brought waves of nausea and spirals of sparkling lights. 

A couple of words dried my robes and hair, and I glanced into the small, cracked looking-glass on the wall: yes, that would do, only a little paler than usual. The deep blue eyes of my reflection were steady, unreadable. It would have to do. 

"You're looking a trifle peaky, dear," the glass remarked. "What you need is a nice 'ot cuppa tea." 

"Oh, hush!" I cast a Silencing Charm on it, just in case it felt like gossiping to anyone else about certain students looking _peaky_. 

As we moved to leave, I placed a hand on his arm. "My thanks, Lucan... for your presence here... and back in class, also. Even for that charm, _quite_ incompetent though it was - " 

"My pleasure." His wide mouth curved in a slow smile. "Besides, you'll have to be so _very_ civil to me from now on, will you not? Or I'll tell _everybody_ about this - starting with - oh, Traherne, or Gerson, or maybe Malfoy?" 

_"Lucan!"_

"What, you'd hex me for flagrant mimicry of Slytherins?" Laughing, he skipped through the doorway as I raised my wand in mock-threat. 

I followed, shaking my head. His jest was welcome, in a way, but all the same... no one must hear of this. I forced myself to breathe evenly and walk beside Valery with my usual self-assured stride; but I suspected that if I were to question that unnervingly perceptive parchment just then, it might tell me I was feeling frightened. I needed no aid to know I also felt angry and profoundly confused. 

Perhaps I would speak to my father through the fire after all... 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Scenting trouble as soon as we reached the entrance hall, I moved to meet it as I had been taught to do. 

_When facing a crowd of uncertain disposition_... Yes, many more people than usual in here, loud talk and laughter, heads turning as I descended the last steps of the great staircase - so this did concern me, whatever it was... My eyes skimmed the crowd, noting who stood with whom, picking out the eldest sons, reading the signs in gesture and stance, gauging status and potential threat. I extended my hearing to catch as many conversations as possible. And I drew my wand. 

It was a measure of my own state of mind that when I heard Dumbledore Minor's name repeated on all sides, my first thought was of Emeric the Evil Sheep. 

No - surely that tale wouldn't cause such a stir, this was worse than when he'd turned the newts inside-out in Transfiguration... Then I caught the word _broomstick_, and understood. 

"Oh, Hades," I breathed to Valery. "I forgot all about his flying class!" 

His dismayed look said he'd forgotten it as well - but there was no shortage of voices to tell us. 

"Martin was absolutely _livid_ - " 

"Oh, if he'd dared say that to me, I'd have - " 

"He'll not show his face at dinner - " 

"Chasing after broomsticks, what excellent sport!" 

"They fled him, truly?" 

"Like a flock of scared pigeons - " 

"Maybe they feared he'd turn them into spiders?" 

" - or sheep!" 

"Silence!" My voice knifed through the crowd like ice-cold wind, stilling their gabbling. The light touch of diffuse Imperius helped. Looking around again, I saw Belcore and Tamino hastening to my side, from opposite directions. 

Dumbledore Minor was nowhere to be seen. Neither were any Masters. And if Lott and Switch had not already swooped down to restore order here, then they did not consider it important - or, in their thrice-cursed wisdom, they had deliberately decided to leave this to me. Generous of them. 

He was my status partner, damn him: whatever he had done, it would be viewed as if I had done it myself. 

But the one great relief was that I no longer faced any need for courtesy or restraint. My pulse pounded painfully in my temples, and the colors all around were slightly too bright... but I still led in the game. I could take the wand of anyone in this crowd. I was the Marvolo heir, and, by the Furies, they would bend to my will - or I'd turn them _all_ into sheep. Deformed, pustulent, six-legged sheep. 

"McKinnon. Trimble." The highest-ranking first-year Slytherins stepped forward as swiftly as they would have done in our own common-room. "What happened, and _where is he_?" 

"Don't know, I swear - " 

"He couldn't fly! No broom would have him!" McKinnon's high-pitched voice was still breathless with the mirth this had evidently aroused among all Dumbledore Minor's year-mates, but he and Trimble sobered fast under my glare. I drew the essential tale from them in moments. 

When the first-year Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered for their flying lesson, Dumbledore Minor hadn't even got as far as attempting to call his broomstick to his hand. As he approached, the broom backed away from him - and kept moving, eluding his awkward efforts to catch it. The flying instructor, a notoriously short-tempered wizard named Mr. Martin, had curtly told him to use another broomstick. That one fled even faster. The other boys doubled over laughing as Martin and Dumbledore Minor gave chase - and then, as if the first two broomsticks had conveyed their panic to their fellows, all the brooms rose into the air and scattered. The furious Martin had ordered Dumbledore Minor back to the castle, saying... 

But McKinnon and Trimble seemed most reluctant to repeat Martin's words to me. Impatient with their juvenile attempts at evasiveness, I waved them aside and looked around for the first-year Gryffindors. They were not among the crowd. 

"Who else was there? Speak!" 

"Why, gladly! Out for a stroll, saw the whole thing, _what_ a spectacle - " If a voice could be said to _bustle_, this one did. 

I suppressed a groan. Esslin. Why did it have to be Esslin? 

The heir of the family ranked ninety-fourth was the product of a temporary marriage alliance with an obscure line that had plebeian blood in the previous generation. A mesalliance; the general opinion confirmed when the resulting son had been Sorted into Hufflepuff, indicating he was unsuited to the game. Lord Esslin had made the appropriate response, seeking a new marriage and producing another son. Nobody really expected _this_ Esslin heir to survive to maturity. 

In fact, it was often said other heirs would draw lots for the pleasure of killing him once he was of an age for duels to the death. The notion of silencing Hufflepuff's sixth-year prefect permanently was so irresistibly tempting. 

"_Briefly_, Esslin." At least his complete lack of discretion should ensure that I heard precisely what had been said. 

"Oh, certainly! Only _too_ delighted to be of assistance, Marvolo - why, I couldn't believe my eyes and ears, damnedest show I've seen for ages - what with all those brooms flying in all directions, and Martin yelling at them - and that _peculiar_ child looking like he was about to have a fit right there - such a shame about him being in Slytherin, isn't it? The way people talk of him, dear chap, _shocking_ - " 

"Esslin! Tell me what Martin said. Now." My wand pointed at his chest. 

His large, vacant blue eyes opened still wider. "But that's _exactly_ what I was about to do - my goodness, yes, Martin was _most_ agitated, with his own broom flying off as well - said something about a disgrace to the school... And then - ah, yes! Told the boy it was unfortunate that his wand hadn't done the same as those broomsticks before it ever made the error of choosing him." Esslin, being Esslin, repeated the appalling insult with a blithe little smile. 

An insult to me, indirectly. Gods, that _lunatic_ Martin... And where was Dumbledore Minor? 

"Has no one seen him since then?" Some of the Slytherins in the crowd may have caught the underlying hiss in my voice. "Did he return to the dungeons?" 

"He did not. I've looked." Belcore, sounding unusually subdued; but when his eyes met mine the message in them was plain: _Let him go, and good riddance_. 

As I tried to think of where else Dumbledore Minor might have sought to hide, there was a disturbance in the crowd. 

"Let us through! We've got his wand!" 

Several very young Gryffindors were pushing their way past older students. They paused, suddenly uncertain, in the clear space before me - then one who appeared to be their leader stepped forward. All I noticed about him was a shock of carroty hair and large ears. 

The first-year boy directed his words to the gap between myself and Valery. "We went looking for him! And found _this_ - " He held out an unmistakable length of rowan-wood. "On the ground, by the lake - " 

"Ha! So did he decide to duck himself, to test if he's truly a wizard?" Esslin seemed quite unaware of the annoyed murmurs among those who heard his remark. 

"That was in exceptionally poor taste, even for you, Esslin." Belcore's hazel eyes held a caustic glint as he went on, drawing his wand. "I'd counsel you to leave, now, before someone teaches you a lesson about the history of your own line..." 

Esslin looked puzzled for a moment; then shrugged and withdrew, whistling as he walked into the Great Hall. Very likely, I was not alone in feeling grateful to Belcore. 

The young Gryffindor made to leave as well, but I stopped him, diverted by a moment of curiosity. That he should venture to speak to me at all - unusual, indeed, given the gulf between us. "I've seen you before - you're his Potions partner, aren't you... What's your name? And why did you seek him?" Was there something he wanted from Dumbledore Minor - or from me? 

"Um... I'm Hal Weasley..." He glanced up at me rather shyly, biting his lip. 

"Brother to those two nitwits who think they're Charms Masters." Valery's whisper in my ear held a thread of laughter. 

This Weasley was fidgeting now, unsure what to do with his hands; he settled for holding them behind his back as he continued. "All that fuss with the broomsticks - well, we shouldn't have laughed at him, really... though it _was_ jolly funny..." He trailed off, then took a deep breath, and his next words came out in a rush. "But still, it was mean of us to laugh so hard - and what the teacher said, that was awful mean - so I wanted to find him and say sorry, that's all. I like him, he's a decent sort of fellow, really - and - and - well, there's nothing that dreadful about being Muggle-born, is there? Just look at his brother - " There he stopped, very suddenly; whatever he saw in my face made him turn bright red and start backing away. A reminder, perhaps, that I was not at all in the habit of conversing with plebeian first-year Gryffindors. 

"My thanks, Weasley Tertius!" Valery called after him, grinning. Then, turning to me, he whispered, "Oh, Julius - you scared off Dumbledore's elf!" 

No time to even begin forming an appropriate response to _that_... Too many students still lingered in the entrance hall, waiting to see what I'd do, whether moved by concern for status or pure nosiness. 

Among them I saw Vesalius Delacroix, leaning against a banister at the foot of the staircase, arms folded and thin lips curved in a smirk. 

I met his eyes, and as I did so I raised my wand and called the wizarding fire: flames played along the smooth mahogany, silver and green and blue, cold against my hand. Delacroix scowled, and I turned away from him, satisfied. Message conveyed: _My_ status is secure enough to withstand this blow - what of yours? 

A sensitive point for this particular eldest son. The fire burned for Masters, or those on the path to Mastery, and he had never been able to call it - yet his brother had done so. What a dilemma for the Delacroix: a younger son Sorted into Slytherin, his wand aflame with the wizarding fire... What an apt reminder for the heir, now. 

Holding the fire, I strode toward the castle's front doors, the crowd parting before me, with more than a few uneasy or envious glances at the blazing wand. Belcore, Valery, and Tamino followed, and I paused in the doorway, considering what to tell them. My three friends gathered close, all looking at me, avoiding the eyes of each other. 

I glanced at Valery as I let the flame die. He smiled back, and I knew we were both thinking of Lucretia - who had first called the fire in her thirteenth year. No trouble for the Valerys there. Lucan, the ideal younger son; that very same lack of ambition which I found such a trial in Transfiguration classes also kept the peace between him and Ciebel, his elder brother. Lucretia, with her flames of scarlet and green and black promising Mastery: a witch, no threat to the heir. All as it should be, and chaos take the Delacroix line... 

"You're going after him, I suppose?" Belcore still seemed to hope for a negative reply. 

"Aulus, be reasonable! What else can I do? Imagine that damned Martin _gloating_ if the brat should disappear _now_ - " I sighed, looking away from him. A loud meow drew my attention to Warrington's cat, sniffing at my robes; I leaned down for a moment to scratch its ginger head. 

"I'm coming with you." 

"You are _not_, Lucan." I glared at him, tired of this. "Leave off, you've done enough - I'm well, completely well, and besides, I need you to - " 

"You're not going by yourself." Valery moved closer, looking as if he'd like to douse me with cold water again. "No, _listen_ to me - you're white as chalk, and you're about to start throwing curses in all directions - I can tell! If not me... then - " Almost hesitantly, he glanced at Tamino. "Carus?" 

Tamino still hadn't said a word to Belcore or Valery. Now he spoke as if he and I were alone. "I'm sorry, Julius. I took your parchment to Divination, and Lott confiscated it... He said it was distracting me." Tamino gave me a soft, rueful smile. "And he's right, it was, I've hardly even thought about my Equinox display all day... Lott said you're to see him and he'll give it back to you." 

I didn't want to go looking for Dumbledore Minor. Not at all. And now I realized that I certainly didn't want to do this alone. 

"Will you come with me, then? A _request_, Carus." 

Tamino simply nodded; and Valery let out a loud sigh of relief. 

I turned to Belcore, keeping my tone light, aware of his touchy mood. "Well, the head of the table is yours this night!" Warrington's cat was now rubbing itself around my ankles, purring in anticipation of dinner. I scooped it up and dumped it in Belcore's arms. "Now you can go tell Warrington to feed this beast... and if Malfoy challenges you, try Worm-Ears - or Cruciatus - or both. Fair fortune to you!" Belcore made a face at me, but did not seem entirely displeased. He walked off toward the door of the Great Hall, still carrying the cat. 

"Save me some food!" I called after him, and he raised a hand briefly in reply - also his way of saying _fair fortune_, perhaps. 

One more message to convey. "Lucan. Go to the High Table, right now, and tell Switch. No, not Lott - _Switch_ - I'd like to know what he says!" 

Valery nodded, though he still appeared slightly perplexed. 

I ran a hand through my hair, thinking furiously. "Tell Switch I'll find him, I'll bring him back... Gods, that confounded flying lesson - I should have known there'd be trouble with Martin, why didn't I - oh, _damn_ him! First the cauldron, then the sheep, now _this_ - I'll bring him back in a thousand pieces!" Then I remembered something else. "And why didn't you tell me - that _elf_ business?" 

He gave me an innocent look. "Didn't wish to upset you. It's a House matter, anyway... Poor little Weasley Tertius, he's utterly mashed on Dumbledore - follows him around, or at least tries to - and Dumbledore didn't even want an elf, but the other prefects insisted, told him it's tradition..." Valery shrugged. "Still, the boy's a smart one, quite good at Potions, apparently. Seems to like your status partner, too. Where's the harm in that?" 

I turned away, starting down the stone steps. "Get rid of him," I said to Valery over my shoulder. "Find another first-year to do it. I don't care for that one." 

Tamino was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. And I still held the rowan wand as we set out together toward the shore of the lake. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Notes:**

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**Thank you** to all reviewers of Chapters One and Two! 

**Welcome** - childofsnow, Storm, Ariana Deralte, Tidmag, RockKing69, Alchemine, Faith Accompli, Sarah Black, Weaver, and thistlemeg. I'll do my best to keep you entertained enough to read on. 

_Tidmag_: where am I going with this? Right through the 19th century, I hope.  
_Ariana Deralte_: Thanks for the lovely at-length comments! Hang in there for an explanation of the witch situation. Hogwarts is due to start accepting witches again within a couple of decades. Reasons are part of the historical web I'm spinning here. Your duel scenario is... ingenious... but it won't happen that way. :-) And I'm _so_ glad to hear you're curious about the Dumbledore family. By the way - think Aberforth and Uric would get along?  
_Alchemine_: I'm in suspense. Did you make it through the next chapter or not? Have some more absinthe, anyway. :-)  
_Weaver_: Thanks for that amazing review on your site! Wow, I'm totally flattered. I'll try not to degenerate. ;-)  
_thistlemeg_: Thanks for reading, thanks for noticing that Parseltongue line, and good luck with those finals! 

Thanks to everyone who's expressed a liking for the Dumbledore brothers! Yes, there will be _lots_ more about them. 

Thanks for reading and commenting on the bits of this chapter as it wove itself together... to teluekh, of course (who _insisted_ that the little Weasley had to be named Hal); and Riley, Keket, jodel, Dorothy. And a number of the kind hearts and fine minds at witchfics.org - Juliane, Catherine Cook, Lev, Hecate, Hypatia, Vulgarweed, Frances, Katrina, Anna. {gratefully waving an antimacassar in your general direction}  


Thanks to Fidelis Haven for the Julius ref (combined with a Guy Gavriel Kay ref! woo-hoo!) in Chapter 10 of her delightful 1940s Slythfic, which has sixth-year Tom Riddle and some of the best damn OCs ever. **The Serpentine Chain** at http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=631464 

Although I'm not writing Julius/Albus here, anyone who thinks that ship has potential should certainly check out teluekh's slashy AU: **Nights in the Snake Pit** at http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=759465  


_Next up:_ Desperately seeking Dumbledore Minor. And Carus Tamino will do magic tricks with his lute and some rocks. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Title:** Two Worlds and In Between (4/?)   
**Rating:** PG-13 for now, may change to R later   
**Summary:** The 19th Century history of the Potterverse: a saga with adventure, angst, romance (het and slash), ethical dilemmas, drama, betrayal, war, and lots of magic. Opens in 1855, at Hogwarts with the Dumbledore brothers - and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle.   
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The title is a line from _Lucretia, My Reflection_ - a song by the Sisters of Mercy. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**List for updates and discussion:** http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Marvoloverse   
**Author's notes at the end of the chapter.**

**Two Worlds and In Between**   
by Minerva McTabby 

**Part One: STATUS**  
Julius Marvolo  
1855 

**Chapter Four**

"Oh, plague take this thing!" 

It was a simple spell. A Finding Charm, such as I had worked a hundred times. Why should it fail me now? 

I closed my eyes, vaguely aware of my head beginning to ache again; also aware of Tamino's grave gaze on me as we stood together by the lake. Although we had made haste to get here, there was no sign of Dumbledore Minor, and calling his name had brought no response. No matter - he _had_ been here, very recently, so a Finding Charm cast from this place ought to tell us where he had gone. 

Raising my wand, I tried once more, and again the spell failed to take hold. It flickered over our immediate surroundings - and faded. 

"Julius, should we - " 

"No! Do be still, I'm trying..." 

Trying to focus, and failing for a reason all too disturbingly obvious; not a reason I wanted to explain to Tamino at that moment. On our way to the lake, he'd already asked me what had happened in Transfiguration - even if he wasn't speaking to Valery, Tamino could have been reading his thoughts, for all I knew - and I had brushed aside his question. Too shameful, now, to admit the class had shaken me so much that even an hour later I could not control my powers enough to work a Finding Charm. 

The spell required me to focus my attention on the one I sought. Another attempt, and the boy's face wavered in my mind, exactly as it had several times already - his pale blue eyes merging with those of his brother, who stood by Switch's desk and raised his wand - and I saw the flower again, I was back inside those damnable colors, dragged there against my will - 

I released the charm, simply in order to breathe. 

"Julius - " 

"Oh, if you're about to suggest that _you_ should do it - be my guest, I'll gladly stand aside like a good little Squib..." 

His answer to my bitter attempt at a jest was light with laughter. 

"Now, why would I do that, with the hash I made of Finding Charms at the end of third year? Fitchett was scandalized... No, I'd sooner leave the Charms to friends who are ever so skilled at them - " A shadow crossed Tamino's face; likely enough he didn't want to think of Valery or Belcore, any more than I wanted to remember the Transfiguration class. 

Then his smile returned as he moved closer. "Do let me try something else! It's new, we've only started it, but I think I can... Where's his wand?" 

I drew the rowan-wood wand and held it out, uncertain of what he could want with it. 

"Yes, hold it like that, open your hand - oh, you can tell so much about people from things like this! We're learning to See their past, or future, or - this is the point, now - discover where someone is, or might be..." Tamino covered the wand with his own hand, palm warm against mine. "Don't speak for a moment, and I'll try my best." 

At least he hadn't told me to close my eyes and spit over my left shoulder, or turn around three times widdershins, or do any other outlandish Divination ritual. Neither had he told me not to watch him - so I did. 

Tamino had sought to describe it for us, many times; he always said that the problem with having the Sight - one of the problems - was that it felt like a vast external force, with the Seer as a leaf caught in a gale. Some students turned away from that, unable to bear the terror or break through it - as Professor Lott insisted they learn to do. He taught them that it was an illusion; in reality, the Sight came from within, and would answer to the Seer's will... if the Seer had the courage, and the ambition, and was clever enough and prepared to work for it... With students from all four Houses in his Divination classes, Lott used a variety of arguments, methods, and penalties in teaching those he judged to be worthy of his time. 

Tamino's brown curls glowed in the last rays of the setting sun. I felt his hand shake slightly on the wand; he bit his lip, and took a deep breath. Then his eyes widened, looking at me and straight through me as he Saw. 

He'd told us the Sight's terror never went away completely; at that moment, fresh from a truly uncanny experience of my own, I felt somewhat closer to understanding. My other hand rose to cover his. 

The silence held, and the lake was still; only the wind rustled through the few trees around us. I turned my thoughts to Dumbledore Minor again, hoping we would find him within the castle - he might have returned there unobserved, and would be hiding, very likely... Or had he run the other way, into the Forest? I'd have to go in after him, quickly; there were good reasons for permitting only students above third year to walk there. And once I'd found him... I'd think of what to do with him. I had to remember it was now a matter of status to ensure that he could and would fly, as soon as possible. 

Suddenly Tamino's hand was snatched back from the wand. 

"The gates!" His grey eyes burned into mine; he spoke loudly, urgently. "Julius, the gates, we have to get - " 

"Wait - what - you Saw him there?" This I had not expected at all. 

"_Yes_, he's there - or he will be - him, you, I don't know who else - yes, Julius, _the gates!_ Come on, we have to hurry!" He clutched at my sleeve, pulling me in the direction of the long drive that curved around the lake down to the main gates of Hogwarts. 

"Carus, stop! Let me at least call my broom, it'll be faster - " 

"Gods, the _last_ thing he'll want to see is a _broom!_" Making an exasperated face at me, Tamino turned and ran. 

Once we found the little demon, I'd hex him - very, very thoroughly. I promised myself that much. Then I raced after Tamino toward the Hogwarts gates. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

He had always been the swiftest - whenever the four of us ran together Tamino would be in the lead, with Valery at his heels, leaving Belcore and myself far behind. Now the gap between us widened, and by the time we were halfway down the long drive that curved around the lake he must have been twenty yards ahead of me. When he suddenly stopped in his tracks and bent down to gather something from the ground, I couldn't make it out until I reached his side. 

Wordlessly, Tamino held up Dumbledore Minor's robes. 

We were indeed on his trail, it would seem - but whatever was the boy playing at now? Irritated, I only muttered an oath in response, hearing it leave my lips as a breathless hiss, and then I was running once more; somehow, Tamino's sense of urgency had conveyed itself to me. The sight of those crumpled black robes gave me the same feeling I'd had when I saw Jigger open the door of the Potions classroom that morning: the foreboding I associated with my status partner's _incidents_. At that moment, I half-expected to find the gates no longer standing. 

Tamino was ahead of me again. As he disappeared around the final bend of the drive I heard him shout a name; and then I was there too, seeing what he saw. 

The gates, still intact. And a small yellow-haired figure, some hundred yards ahead of us, running as hard as we were. He glanced back over his shoulder - yes, he could see us, yet he didn't stop. 

He had gone far enough. Still running, I raised my wand; at the top of my voice, I called out the spell I had threatened to use on him at luncheon. 

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

His hand had only just touched the gates when he fell to the ground. I slowed my pace to a walk, noting with some satisfaction that my ability to work a Body-Bind was unaffected by whatever had disrupted my Finding Charm. 

Tamino reached him first, and levitated him upright. The blue eyes locked onto me as I approached - not hurrying, giving him plenty of time to be afraid. 

When I got to the gates, there was a brief silence; an owl hooted in the twilight from the trees by the lake, and a breeze ruffled my hair as I stood there looking grimly at Dumbledore Minor. He'd gone _more_ than far enough this day. 

"Julius, if we could - " 

I never heard what Tamino was about to propose. Even as he spoke, I released the binding - Dumbledore Minor stumbled forward, off-balance - then, with an inarticulate cry, he whirled around and leapt at the gates, climbing - 

"Damn you, _stop_!" He'd caught me by surprise, but he didn't get far - scarlet ribbons whipped from my wand, pulling him down, his hands clutching uselessly at the wrought iron - and he found himself with his back against one of the stone gate-columns, tied securely in place. This time I left him his voice, wanting answers... Yet the questions faded on my lips, for at that moment I became aware of his appearance - and stopped, unable to do anything but gape at him. 

"Gods, what _are_ you wearing?" 

The reply was predictably brief, hostile, and unhelpful. 

"Clothes!" 

"You wear... _those_ garments in your dormitory - where others can see?" 

He made no answer. I looked him up and down again, wondering what the status implications of such peculiar garb might be; I'd never seen its like at Hogwarts. Those leg-coverings - not even breeches, such as some of the plebeians wore, but longer - how uncomfortable they must be... Our robes covered us from neck to floor, and I'd never spared a thought for what he might be wearing underneath. I'd assumed - but no, this was another thing which would have to be stopped, before his yearmates decided to tell the entire school about his fondness for Muggle clothing. 

"Distasteful, as well as inappropriate." A wave of my wand Transfigured the oddities into a plain black tunic and hose, copies of my own; and once again I was relieved to find my skills undiminished. "Now," I went on, ignoring his howl, "you'll put on your robes and come back to the castle - whyever did you run out here? Come, we have work to do if you're to make up for that flying class - " 

I glanced at Tamino as I spoke, to see if he still had the robes - and he did, but he seemed distracted, peering around as if he'd lost something. 

"Don't you hear me? I'm _not_ going back!" Dumbledore Minor's voice rose to a shriek. 

"Don't be absurd!" I snapped, still looking at Tamino. "Of course you are..." Perhaps it would be best for all of us to avoid Central that evening; I could take the brat back to the dungeons, and Belcore would bring me some food while I tried to work out a plan for regaining the status lost - 

"I'm not listening to you any more! You _lied_ to me!" 

Tiresome, insolent... _Mudblood_. 

"If a fondness for truth-telling had any value in our House, I might take offence at that," I answered coldly, turning to face him again. "As it is, you only reveal your ignorance - which has already caused far too much trouble this day. Be silent! And remember who I am, or by the Fates, I _will_ leave you to fend for yourself in the game, and we'll see how long you last." 

"_I don't care!_ I thought you w-wanted me to stay, but none of it was true, and - and I did as you said though I _knew_ it was wrong..." He choked out the words, glaring at me. "Well, I won't do it any more! You and your status and the whole bloody game can go to the devil! I'm _not_ going back, you can't make me - " 

"I most certainly can! If you don't - " 

"But where else would you go?" Tamino broke in, placing a restraining hand on my wand arm. "Home? It's a long way from Scotland to Surrey. And then you'll have to come back, you know - you've barely started, you have so much to learn before you're fully trained as a wizard - " 

"No! I won't - I can't - It's _vile_." The boy's mouth trembled, and his eyes filled as he looked at Tamino. "I can't bear it, I hate myself - when it feels good to do spells, though I know it's wrong and nobody will like me any more - " 

"No one likes you as it is," I said brutally. "And this foolishness will not - " 

"I don't mean _here_! I mean _real_ people!" 

Tamino sighed. "I think he means _Muggles_ won't like him, Julius..." 

"Then he's raving. The very idea of it - " 

But Dumbledore Minor interrupted again, straining against the force binding him to the gate-column. His furious, accusing gaze was fixed on me. "I meant to run the very first day! Then I listened to _you_ - and you're the worst of it, you seem so _real_ - the only one here who does - and when you talked it all made sense, and I did as you said, and - oh Lord, I even _liked_ some of it... And you were lying all the time! I hate you!" 

My anger mingled with bemusement; I glanced at Tamino, but he also seemed at a loss to make out what the boy could possibly mean. At any rate, this was entirely ridiculous. "Real? Wrong? What are you babbling about? Enough! We'll return to the castle, now. And I have your wand, you dropped it - " 

"I don't _want_ it!" he cried, flinching from the wand as if it sickened him. "I threw it away! Are you deaf? I don't want any of this - I don't belong here - and I'm _not_ going back! It's _wrong_!" 

Tamino gasped in dismay, not even protesting when I shook his hand from my arm. 

"Perhaps you failed to comprehend what Martin said to you this day." My voice was glacially soft, laced with danger. "He said your wand erred in choosing you. That was an insult - some of the worst words one wizard can say to another. Yet it seems you have gone him one better..." I released him from the binding, holding out the length of rowan-wood. "This wand _honored_ you with its choice - and you dare toss it aside? I'll not permit you to shame it so. Take it back!" 

Pale blue eyes stared at me defiantly from the dusty, tear-streaked face above the black tunic. "You don't really want me to stay, do you? _Do you_?" 

"No, I don't!" The bitterness in my own voice surprised me for a moment, but I was too furious to care. "I don't want it, curse you - but I gave my word for you before the House, and I can't get rid of you now, so stay you shall - _whatever_ I have to do to you!" 

"I'm not scared of you!" he burst out - an obvious untruth. "Go - go to hell! Whatever you do to me - you can't do it forever, and I'll run away again, first chance I get! I won't listen to you, ever - and I _won't_ do any more magic!" 

"But that's... impossible," said Tamino at my side, a catch in his voice. "It would be - losing part of yourself, like cutting off an arm... You're a wizard." 

"I'm not! I won't be! None of it's real!" 

"Stop." I held him at wand-point. "You say _we_ are not real? Hogwarts _is not real_?" 

"No!" shouted Dumbledore Minor, tears streaming down his face. "It's like a bad dream! Like something in storybooks, with evil sorcerers, and goblins, and witches flying on b-broomsticks... It can't - it _can't_ be true, I won't let it, I'm not part of this! Let me go!" 

"Oh, yes you are part of it," I said quietly, sensing the rage build and build within me. "Here you are, and here you'll stay. You have a _gift_, you little idiot - and for all your squalling, you're a _wizard_! Now - for the last time - _take back your wand_." 

He shook his head wildly. "No! I'm _not_. I'll stop - I just won't do it any more - I don't want to be a wizard! It's _better_ out there!" 

I took one step toward him, wand raised. He froze, not taking his eyes off me, his hair a pale shadow in the twilight against the dark stone of the gate-column. My weariness had vanished; I felt very strong, and the colors dancing at the edge of my vision troubled me not at all. 

"And you speak to me of lying," I said to him, with a deliberate laugh. "I'd far rather be a liar than a fool such as you... I'll not ask it again. Take back your wand! _Imperio!_" 

The link slammed down between us. Caught, and held. 

He knew nothing of this, less than nothing, and he didn't stand a chance, for this was no simple hex - it was one of the great curses, far beyond any spell I had shown him before. One of my favorites. A thing of elegance in the working, demanding both power and skill; supremely useful as well, for attack or defense, and I had made sure all my friends learned to cast Imperius - even Tamino, who protested that he'd never use it. 

Dumbledore Minor knew nothing of countering this. I watched his eyes as the base of the spell swept over him - the insidious, delightful trance that would hold him helpless as a fly drowned in honey - while I stood on the brink, feeling it, yet not falling. That was the first art required here, and many an incautious wizard had failed this test and found himself trapped in his own spell: for Imperius drew on the caster's own capacity and longing to surrender and escape all pain, all fear, accepting the decisions made by another's will. 

My command echoed silently across the haze in his mind: Take the wand. Accept what you are. Come back... 

At his age I'd already been confident in blocking this curse, and I'd begun to practise it on house-elves, who offered no resistance at all. My father counselled me to seek my own manner for the working. When he cast Imperius, it appeared in his mind as a fast-flowing stream, to be turned and channelled in the right direction; and later I heard Professor Lott remark in a Dark Arts class that he saw it as soft clay in his hands, to be shaped and formed as he desired. For Belcore it was a Lethifold's embrace, while Lucretia made us all laugh with her vision of Imperius as a work of embroidery, binding another's will to hers with each delicately powerful stitch. 

Wizard, take your wand... Come back... 

"Julius..." whispered Tamino, somewhere far away, outside the link. "Not enough... it's - oh, Julius..." 

But I would not be distracted. Standing with my own wand in my right hand, holding out the other in my left, I cast the spell with all my skill and ire, seeing in my mind's eye the form it took for me: a shining cage of light, its bars curving to close around the shrinking shadow that was my prey. 

Wizard... Take back your wand. Wizard. 

Yes, I had him now - face blank, eyes empty, his hand reaching out - as the bars of the cage drew closer and closer, almost touching - 

And stopped. 

A new voice spoke within the link of Imperius: _No. Not a wizard. No._ His hand paused, then pulled back; the cage of light wavered, blurring in the face of his refusal. 

I remained motionless, astonished, holding the link in place, but every muscle in my body tensed. So he would fight? Well, I had worked this spell on Malfoy and Delacroix, for all their resistance, and I would work it now on this preposterous child who stood there _denying_ his own power even as he fought off one of the great curses... 

_"Imperio!"_ I snarled aloud, and across the link I told him: Take back the wand that chose you. Take it, wizard! You are one of our kind! 

His hand faltered. Reached toward me once more. Held still. 

_Not one of you. No._

Take the wand. Now! 

_I won't. Never one of you!_

Then the cage-bars were snuffed out like so many candle-flames. For an endless moment, neither of us moved. Dumbledore Minor, still caught in the trance, cast only one word into the silence, over and over: _No. No. No._ And I, speechless in outrage, was unable to complete the curse. It was unthinkable - maddening - he could _not_ be doing this to me! 

Colors flickered in the shadows around the gates. 

When I released the spell he slumped against the gate-column, and the effort of withdrawing my power from the link rocked me back on my heels. Tamino spoke to me, but I raised a hand to ward him off and turned to gaze out into the gathering darkness over the lake. What was I meant to do now - accept defeat and walk away? 

No. Not ever, and especially not after all that he and his thrice-cursed brother had done to me this day. Even if I couldn't understand... No. It was _he_ who didn't understand, he who was mistaken here, and his own words proved it - 

"Aulus..." I breathed, my eyes still on the lake. "Aulus was right..." 

"_What?_" 

I spun around to face Tamino and the boy behind him. "He was right! Not power. A question of loyalties - and it seems that _you_," I said, shooting a vicious look at Dumbledore Minor, "require to be lessoned in loyalties, before you're capable of seeing what's plain as the nose on your face! Very well..." 

Mudblood. He was a _Mudblood_, that was the heart of it, one of a handful of them in the school; and while I knew of the others, I had barely spoken to any. No wizard of my rank would associate with the creatures - everyone knew they were untrustworthy, forever tainted by the world that spawned them, the world that loathed our kind. The proof of it stood before me now, spouting nonsense about Muggles and bad dreams. 

No, not _this_ Mudblood, whatever might be said of the rest. For this one was my status partner, and I had sworn he would be an asset to the House... 

The memory infuriated me. A _Slytherin_, blubbering about right and wrong, shrinking from his own power? Ludicrous. To think that any of our kind, of our House, would care two pins for the opinions of Muggles, or be heard to say so - And after all I'd done for him, the ungrateful little - 

"You say we are not real," I began, pointing my wand at him again. "That offends me. And you would turn your back on us, on your own skill and your own wand, to live among _Muggles_? That does more than offend me - it is an affront to our kind, and to our dead. Hear me now: there is no way back for you, no way you can _ever_ deny what you are! Even if you flee this school, you poor dunce... you cannot leave the wizarding world. It is not permitted." 

"Don't care - won't listen to you - " It was almost full dark now, and I could no longer see his face clearly, but the breathless, desperate voice rose in protest - as if the sentiments of some unknown Muggles, somewhere beyond those gates, could ever carry more weight than my words... 

"_Lumos!_" I sent his wand to hover between us, shining with a harsh, fierce light that left him nowhere to hide. I would make him listen to me yet. 

"You stand on _this_ side of the gates now, and I'll have you show a proper respect for it - so I'll tell you what we think of Muggles here, and how you shall think of them henceforth... I'll tell you how things really are!" 

I almost choked on the indignity of having to explain anything at all; he ought to have obeyed me instantly - or, failing that, I should have been able to put the curse on him... Oh Hades, I'd make him pay for this. 

"I shall say it briefly, so that any simpleton child may understand. First: we are few, and they are many. Second: they hate our kind, and would destroy us if they could. Third - do you hear me?" I raised my voice, punctuating the words with bursts of black sparks from my wand. "Third - they are as _dust_ beneath our feet! Not worthy of a moment's thought for any decent wizard." 

Dumbledore Minor made as if to speak, but I wouldn't let him. 

"Don't you dare repeat to me what any damned Muggle has told you! I'll hear no more of what you call _real_ or _wrong_! And as for them _not liking_ you - " I spat out a laugh at that. "What did you expect, fool? You're one of the evil sorcerers now! They will hate you - hunt you - and give you to the fire or the sword if they can, as they have done to so many, and would do to all of us. How else could it be?" 

I ran out of breath and paused, expecting some impudent reply - but none came, and for the first time he looked properly frightened: it was in his face as he shrank back against the gate-column, hands splayed out against the stone, casting quick, nervous glances at me, at Tamino, at the castle and the lake. 

Triumph swept over me. I had reached him; and now, if he accepted his place, he would see I could be generous. Measure of influence: sanctuary. 

"Forget them! You're under Marvolo protection, you need never see another Muggle - " 

"No. They - they won't do that to me! You're lying again!" 

The sting of disappointment was brief, but final. That shrill, relentless rejection cut through my words, dispelling whatever delusions had possessed me for the past three weeks. Loyalties could not be changed. I should have remembered that. And as I moved forward, wand poised for the next curse, I didn't know what I would say - I only knew it was over, done, finished. I'd had my fill of him. 

I'd had enough, this day and many other days, of failure and frustration - and I still couldn't think of that classroom without feeling ill, damn _him_! - and what was more monstrous, that a Mudblood would think I'd bother lying to him, or that any wizard would lie about _this_? No more! I'd be rid of him, even if it cost me the head of the table - for a while - and I'd take the lectures from Lott and my father, I'd admit the whole notion had been rash idiocy - but he would be _gone_. My hand clenched on the wand. Let him reject my protection, let him skulk on the margins of the wizarding world - no way out of it for him, that much was true - doomed to a lifetime of the menial work fit for Squibs and failed wizards. He deserved no better! I felt as if I stood beneath that cauldron on the ceiling again, firing spell after spell at it... all for nothing. Why, to think I'd done that for him - and he'd made a mockery of me, again and again - and now he would mock our history too, and side with the Muggles - 

There was a tightness in my throat, of the kind that could only be cleared by curses; but even as my lips parted to speak them, the path to my target was blocked. 

"He's not lying," said Tamino, standing between us to face Dumbledore Minor. "Please, listen to me - it's something you do need to know, I swear, the history of - " 

"I don't need you to vouch for me!" This was too humiliating. "Get out of my way!" 

Tamino looked back at me over his shoulder, hesitating. "But he doesn't understand... I only want to explain - " 

"And is it your tale to tell - in front of me, and to a Slytherin?" 

He lowered his eyes at once. "No - no, of course it isn't. Your pardon, Julius..." 

I watched Tamino stand aside. Not for him to tell, indeed; while there were those of his blood among the dead of past centuries - what wizard or witch among us could say otherwise? - his ancestors had not died fighting. Mine had. My grandsire's grandsire, the young Lord Marvolo who barely had time to father his first heir; if that heir had not proved worthy, our line would have ended then. 

As I faced Dumbledore Minor once more, I wondered where _his_ ancestors had been: faces in the crowd howling for a witch's blood - or something worse? 

"One last lesson, then, since Carus wishes it - and then you may go where you please, for I'm done with you!" My voice sounded odd, as if I were casting a spell after all. 

Dumbledore Minor watched me, silent and suspicious as ever. Tamino kept his eyes on the ground between us, not even glancing up as I said his name. It was dark now outside the circle of wand-light, and I could see nothing beyond the gates. 

I began to speak. 

"Because we were few, and they were many..." 

That was how all the tales of the Burning Times began. Though I drew the rest of what I said now from a multitude of books, from long conversations with my father and other elders, the opening phrase always took me back to how I had first heard the tales: the long winter evenings at Valery Hall, with Lord and Lady and retainers gathering before the hearth - the bards and illusion-weavers who passed through, to accept a goblet of mead and work their art - Lucretia and Lucan and I, huddled together, holding hands and holding our breath as we listened and watched the centuries roll back... Tale after tale. All those years ago. For we were few, forever too few, and they were many... 

"Mindless brutes in their bloodlust, with no respect for life - not caring how many of their own they killed, if only they could destroy our kind - the merest suspicion sufficed, for what they did to wizards and witches. _Especially_ to witches." 

I kept my voice steady, but I felt the grief and the rage echo in my words, as any of us would - anyone but a Mudblood... I could almost see them, all the witches and wizards of the past who might once have walked through these gates, and I sensed the question: what would I have done, had I been living then? 

Only one reply possible: I would have flown with the other Lords of the great families - I would have led them - in that time when the Dark Arts went beyond the game, when we did not cower in secrecy, but fought the natural enemies of our kind. 

"They gave us to the rack, and they drowned us, and they sent us to the stake... And we replied with the Cruciatus Curse and all the other arts of war. And the Dark wizards flew, to save and protect - or, if too late for that - to avenge and to punish. And because they outnumbered us - for each of our dead, a hundred of them would die..." 

A soft sigh from Tamino. My voice growing louder, ringing out in the night - and the curses ready on my lips, impatient, as if they longed to blend with the tale. Colors glowing on the fringes of the wand-light, spiralling gems in the darkness past the Mudblood, who stood so still that he seemed part of the gate-column. 

"And when the warriors of our kind flew in vengeance, the Muggles fought - but though one wizard might fall with an arrow in his throat, another would take his place, to send the hangman spinning high into the air and cast him down, to burn the inquisitor in his own fire..." 

We had done that, and I would have done it myself, yet the dead stayed dead - their wands broken, their spells silent, their arts lost - making the few still fewer. Centuries ago, like yesterday. The waste of it. 

That only made it worse to think of any wizard throwing away his own gifts... another form of waste, right here in front of me, and there was nothing I could do. Hot anger surged through me, my pulse pounding as fast as those colors flickering in the night. Wasted, all wasted, these past weeks, and all I'd done this day, for he would be gone; and oh, how I wished I'd never started this, never seen him - if only I never had to see his brother again either - and people had _laughed_ at me! - and I'd have to explain this to my father, how I'd come to do something so stupid... Damn all Mudbloods, anyway, I'd never speak to one again, and it was all _this_ Mudblood's fault and I'd make him pay - now. 

"Well, have you nothing to say? It should please you, surely, to hear of all those evil sorcerers slain - " 

He wouldn't meet my eyes, but I saw him shudder, and hurled my scorn at him like a parting gift. 

"You Muggle-loving fool, you talk of bad dreams, yet you won't look at the nightmares of our kind? What would you say to the dead - that you'd stand with the Muggles and light the pyre yourself, rather than take your wand and accept your power? But of course - you still don't understand! How could I forget... you need _pictures_, don't you? I'll give you pictures!" 

Though no equal of a trained illusion-weaver, I was by no means incompetent. As the spells burst forth from my lips, the ground between us and all around him bubbled and heaved - and then he screamed, and kept screaming, and my reward - my revenge - was in the absolute terror on his face as he learned one History of Magic lesson he'd never forget. The bodies of our dead had risen from the earth for him. 

He stood in a charnel-house, and he screamed at the corpses - some in their blood-stained robes, some naked, others reduced to charred bones or torn limbs, torture-scarred - and he choked on the acrid tang of scorched flesh, irrefutable as the demands of memory and loyalty. He raised his head to look at me across the illusion I'd worked, and I looked back at him, and smiled. 

A moment later I began to laugh. 

Too perfect, this: after all he'd said about _never_ doing any more magic, there he was, rising into the air! Straight up he went, all round eyes and flailing limbs, his screams trailing off in a squeak of surprise. I lowered my wand, allowing the illusion to fade, the better to enjoy the spectacle before me: the Mudblood standing on the wide bronze back of the winged boar atop the gate-column, four yards from the ground, staring down at us with a startled, indignant expression that was quite priceless. 

"Don't be afraid! It's all right, children do this all the time - wait, we'll get you down from there - " 

"You'll do no such thing, Carus!" I pulled him back as he drew his wand. "After all, if he's not a wizard, he couldn't have done that, could he? So it's obviously not _real_, and certainly no problem of ours. Let him stay there!" 

"You can't mean to - " 

"Why not? I'm sure he's about to show us how a true Muggle conducts himself in such a predicament. Come, we wait to be enlightened!" I called to the boy above us. "Shall I bring the rest of our House here to watch?" 

He started to speak, swayed, and flung out his arms to steady himself, peering uneasily at the sheer sides of the gate-column and the sharp spikes along the top of the gates. 

Would he beg me for aid? I'd take pleasure in refusing him. The sight of his disrespect crumbling beneath the weight of fear might make me feel better than I had since I'd watched a cauldron float free from the ceiling. 

"Surely you're not waiting for your _brother_ to rescue you?" 

At that, he found his voice. "Stop - stop laughing at me!" 

"Why don't you come here and make me, Muggle-lover?" 

Tamino touched my shoulder. "Enough," he whispered. "Let's get him down and go! He doesn't even have his wand - " 

"Easily remedied!" I said, silencing him with a glance. "Shall we make this even more entertaining?" 

"Julius, no - " 

I levitated myself, grabbing the rowan-wood wand out of the air on the way, rising lightly to stand on the other winged boar, facing the Mudblood. Then I sent his wand spinning across the gates to land at his feet. 

"Yours, little as you deserve it! Will you throw it aside again, you worthless excuse for a wizard?" 

He stared down at the wand for a long moment - then slowly, cautiously, bent to pick it up. As soon as he touched it, the light I had called from it died. I realised I'd been holding my breath. 

"_Lumos!_" Tamino's voice pierced the darkness as new light flared to show his troubled face looking up at us both. 

I waved at him, then turned back to... my _former_ status partner, and suddenly I was reminded of my first sight of him with that wand in his hand: alone in the dormitory, surrounded by spiders. If only he had stayed there. Even now, he held the wand as if it were something foul, rather than an honor... Bitterly, I thought of all the hours I'd wasted on him - and not only I, but Tamino, Belcore, Valery, and Lucretia. He was a nobody, a Mudblood; he should have been sensible of the privilege in this, and grateful, and anxious to please. He should have been. 

Yet he would cast all that away, along with his wand and his skill... 

"Well? How long are you going to stand there?" I demanded. "You fail to amuse me - as you fail at everything else... That unfortunate wand must indeed be regretting its choice, but not half as much as I regret I ever saw you!" 

There was pure venom in his look as the wand flew up to point at me. 

"_Ustulo!_" 

I slapped the tiny jinx aside in derision. "So you seek to burn a sorcerer, as a good Muggle should? And with a spell? How original! But you'll have to do _much_ better than that. The word you want is _Incendio_," I told him. "Will you use it, wizard?" 

A simple spell to start a fire; or something more, when wielded in a duel. With a contemptuous smile, I waited to see what he'd do. Try again? Beg me? Jump? In any case, I would have some fun with him now. 

I felt wild, reckless, all the smouldering anger of that long day spilling over into an urge to lash out and fight. When this was over, I'd go to Central and seek an opponent worthy of my skill. Meanwhile, let this fool see what fire could be made to do - perhaps that would teach him some respect for the world he was so eager to escape. 

His eyes narrowed over the wand. "_Incendio!_" 

I was ready for him. As the flames rushed toward me, I caught them and mastered them, easily, binding his wand to the spell with one quick curse and his hand to the wand with another. Then I sent the impatient tendrils of flame flowing around us, up and down and out, so the wrought iron gates were wreathed in fire and the columns blazed. He and I stood in a burning bower, unharmed amidst the searing heat - for as long as I chose to have it so. 

Tamino cried out, but his voice was lost among the inferno's roar and the savage laughter welling up inside me, ringing in my ears as I added power to power, making the flames leap higher, burn brighter. It felt very good. 

"No! Marvolo - stop, _please_ stop! Let - me - go!" 

Dumbledore Minor's face twisted as he fought me, but I held him fast and kept the fire streaming from his wand, to be caught and patterned by mine, sent whirling around us both in a dance of yellow and scarlet. 

I laughed again, giddy and drunk with heat and light, feeling the force of enchantment flow through me like strong wine or a lover's embrace or the thrill of the dueling floor. I fancied I could see flowers in the flames, blazing with a hundred colors against the night. 

Let them all be consumed, reduced to ashes. I would delight in it. 

"Didn't you want to burn me, Muggle-lover?" I taunted him. "Shall I let the fire take us now? I'm an evil sorcerer, oh yes I am - but if I burn, then by all the gods, _so do you_, for you are one of my kind!" 

"I'm not!" he shrieked, wild-eyed. "I'm not, I'm _not_! Liar! _Imperio!_" 

My laughter stopped in a gasp of surprise; but I barely had time to be astounded by his temerity in turning that curse against me, or his ability to cast it at all, for a link formed between us again - and there was chaos. 

I felt the link, and the familiar trance beneath, which I evaded with practised ease, but the quality of this spell was like no other Imperius Curse I'd ever encountered. Strong, yes, but entirely unfocused, with nothing remotely resembling an attempt to shape a command: only the link and one continuous, silent scream of denial - quite deafening, and most unpleasant. He was shaking all over, his hand still locked to the wand it held, and his eyes squeezed tight shut. Clearly, he had not the faintest notion what to do with this curse; so I simply left the link in place and waited for him to become trapped in his own Imperius trance. 

The arc of fire still streamed between our wands. With my attention elsewhere, I dismissed the first glint of fresh color in the flames, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me again - until cooler air touched my skin. The colors grew more vivid. When I looked at them properly, I nearly fell off the winged boar. 

Something new had kindled in his wand, flying to mine and outward to embrace the gates, and the breath caught in my throat as the blaze in which we stood changed before my eyes. 

Heat died and colors shifted around us, now burning cold and bright. 

Burning white and blue and black. 

_Gods_. The wizarding fire, the flame of Mastery that marked the strongest of our kind. 

I had no leisure to gape at it: Dumbledore Minor opened his eyes and let out a yell, aloud, to match the din he was creating across the link of Imperius. I winced. _Not_ trapped in the trance - but he was panicking, badly, as he struggled to break the link and put out the flame. I took a deep breath. Then, doing my best to sound composed, I spoke to him silently. 

Mudblood! Calm yourself. This is important. Have you ever seen this flame before? 

_I can't stop it! No - no - no - Make it stop!_

Calm yourself. See, I'm no longer angry. Be still! Hear me. 

_Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop - _

Not while you're howling like a banshee! Be still. Listen to me. Have you seen this flame before? 

_No! I don't know! Make it go away! Marvolo help me -_

Mudblood, it's your flame. Do not fear it. Quietly, now. Listen, I'll show you what to do... 

So he still didn't know what he'd done - any more than I knew what he was; but at least the noise had died down. Speaking slowly and clearly across the link, I explained what I was doing as I released my own spells; the fire disappeared from the gates and the columns, faded from my wand, shrinking to a small flame around his. After taking another long look at the colors, I showed him how to extinguish it. 

All the while, my thoughts raced as I tried to fit the evidence of my eyes to any comprehensible explanation. 

Mastery, perhaps, but Mastery of _what_? He showed promise in Transfiguration; yes, that could be it - or Charms... or... No. Impossible. 

Then I guided him through releasing the Imperius Curse, thinking only that he should not have been able to cast it. Too ignorant. Too young. No one I knew had worked Imperius at that age... except myself. And the wizarding fire had burned for him as he did it. 

The obvious conclusion made me wish this whole day could be classified as a bad dream, so I could somehow return to the breakfast table and start over. 

A _Mudblood_ Master of the Dark Arts? No. The deepest contradiction in terms, an utter violation of every tenet of history and loyalty. _Impossible_. And yet, against all odds, Fortune and the Sorting Hat had cast him into Slytherin: the House of Dark wizards, of the warrior arts and the game. My House. 

With a wand of rowan, the wood of sanctuary and protection. 

I pushed my hair back from my forehead, feeling more than a little tired and hungry, as well as confused. Dumbledore Minor was now sitting astride the boar on his gate-column, looking dazed, still clutching his wand in one grubby fist. 

"Why in Hades did you try Imperius on me at all?" It was the first question that came into my head. 

"I - I meant to do that fire spell again..." He shrugged. "I must have mixed them up..." 

I made a sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. That was ridiculous enough to be true, for him; and if my guess about his flame proved correct, then the field of Dark Arts might be facing some interesting times... Had I really almost allowed a potential Master to leave the school, untrained? 

Perhaps it was time to return to the ground. 

A quick charm brought both of us floating down to stand before the gates again, and at once I looked around for Tamino, finding him by the glow of his wand. He had moved some paces away, standing with his back to the gates, looking up the long drive at the lights on the castle's turrets, visible above the trees. The wand in his right hand switched back and forth in rapid, agitated rhythm to a music I couldn't hear. 

I hurried over to him. "Carus! Did you see that, did you see what - " 

His arm felt taut as a curse waiting to be spoken; when he spun around at my touch, I suddenly found myself facing one of Tamino's rare tempers. 

"Yes, I _saw_ - you and the fire, and then I couldn't see past it - couldn't see anything! Why did you do it? Why?" 

"But Carus, the colors - " 

" - of all the senseless tricks - _never_ do that again! Too close - " 

After everything that had passed, to be scolded by an outraged Ravenclaw who was completely missing the point - it was too much. I burst out laughing once more and pulled Tamino into an embrace, ignoring his spluttering, clinging to him until I was able to speak. 

"Gods, are you quite deranged? Julius - " 

"I'm _fine_! He - I - did you see the colors?" 

"I wasn't thinking of that! I saw the fire - no, not your usual colors, what did you - " 

"Not - my - colors," I gasped, turning him so that we both faced the gates. "Not mine!" 

Dumbledore Minor, shoulders drooping, stood where I had left him. 

"Oh my," said Tamino. 

The boy stared back at us blankly. 

I sighed. "What am I to do with you now, Mudblood?" 

"I'm still not staying!" His chin came up and he folded his arms defiantly - in a manner that left his wand ready for immediate action. I recognized the stance as one of my own, and almost dissolved in laughter again, but instead I simply looked at him, waiting; sure enough, it didn't take long for him to lose his nerve. 

"I'm not!" His voice quavered higher. "You can't make me - and all those things you said - and - and - those _people_ - " Then he crumpled to his knees, retching. 

Tamino and I exchanged one brief, resigned glance and moved to his side. Leading him to the shore, both of us provided light as we waited for his sobs to subside, then washed his face in the cold lake-water. Throughout it all, he wouldn't let go of the wand - and I smothered a smile at that. His wand-arm knew the truth of it, at least, even if his stubborn head still balked. 

We crouched on either side of him, and as his ragged breaths grew more steady, I was still wondering what to try next. 

Unexpectedly, Tamino spoke first. "Would you consider staying... for a while?" Shooting a sharp look at me over the boy's head, he went on, his voice disarmingly clear and gentle. "Until Samhain, shall we say?" 

"Carus, that's not - " I fell silent, unwillingly, as he brought a finger to his lips. His eyes urged me to let him continue. 

"When is... Samhain?" Dumbledore Minor kept his gaze on the reflections of wand-light rippling in the water. 

"Oh, of course, you'd know it as All Hallows' Eve," said Tamino swiftly. "That's not so very long, is it? Only a few more weeks. I'd be sorry to stop our reading lessons now, wouldn't you? And we'll try to make things easier for you, indeed we will - " 

I snorted at that; Dumbledore Minor remained silent. 

"But you do have to make allowances for Julius..." Tamino's smirk in response to my appalled glare told me his temper hadn't entirely cooled. "Just as you've never seen a place like Hogwarts before... well, Julius has grown up in a big castle a long way from anywhere - and it's hard for him to imagine the world you come from. Why, I'll wager he's never spoken to a Muggle in his life - have you, Julius?" 

"I have _not_," I replied coldly. Of course I hadn't, and Tamino knew it, and I didn't see the relevance of this at all. We were talking about the Mudblood, not about me. 

"But he's very clever, as you can see, and knows all about such matters as... oh, dueling - and snakes - and other useful things, so he's well worth listening to!" The gleam in Tamino's eyes threatened to spill over into open mirth; I raised my wand and saw him bite his lip, keeping his voice steady with an obvious effort. "So - what say you? Do stay till Samhain! And tell us - you must tell us what you want, and if there's anything we can do to help - none of us will be angry, truly, we want you to stay - " 

Dumbledore Minor raised his head. His hair was still damp, and droplets of water on his face glistened like tears by the light of my wand, but the pale eyes that met mine were clear and dry. 

"Do you? Do you really want me to stay?" 

Behind him, Tamino made a frantic series of faces and gestures to indicate that unless I said yes, he would either hex me or never speak to me again. 

For one instant that felt like forever, all I'd said to Dumbledore Minor in anger streamed through my mind - and all the outrageous things _he_ had said - but as I drew breath to answer him, I found that none of it mattered. No, it _did_ matter; how could I overlook the fact that he was a Mudblood with uncertain loyalties? Yet all of it seemed less important, somehow, than the moment when he'd asked for my aid within the link of Imperius, and I had given it, and he had trusted me enough to follow where I led. 

I'd known it on the very first day, when I faced him in my chamber, and now the certainty returned to me at last. _Skill like my own_. Not wasted. Not lost. I looked at this impossibly irritating little Mudblood, and saw another wizard who knew what it was to work one of the great curses at the age of eleven. 

"Yes, I do," I said. "I swear it by the flame that burned for you, status partner." 

There was a long silence. Tamino let his wand float above our heads, still shining, and reached out to take my free hand in his. 

"I... don't like them laughing at me." Dumbledore Minor seemed to speak to the lake, or to the night, not looking at either of us. 

"Learn a few more hexes, and I'll show you what to do about that," I said. If he really wanted the whole school to stop laughing, he'd also have to cease doing inexplicable things to cauldrons and making up wild tales about sheep - but this hardly seemed the time to go into details. 

He turned to Tamino, who gave him an encouraging smile, then glanced at me again, wavering. "No more brooms?" 

"As you please," I replied with an air of indifference. "I'll not put you on a broomstick..." Now there was a promise I had no intention of keeping. Fly he would, and soon, though I hadn't yet decided how it might be done. 

"Till... Samhain, then." He said it to the lake, very faintly, and I grinned, and Tamino squeezed my hand. 

As we rose to our feet, Tamino held out the boy's bundled robes, inviting him to put them on. I toyed with my wand, thinking ahead to our return to the castle, and later... I could still follow my plans for his training. Samhain was six weeks off. He'd forget all about Muggles and their ways by then, I'd see to that myself, or else he could - 

"Marvolo..." 

I looked up to find him watching me. 

"Give me back my own clothes." An undertone of challenge there, slight but certain. 

I bit back the impulse to tell him to do it himself. He couldn't - not unless I drove him to desperation, as I'd done in the Great Hall on his first day; but I was in no mood for that now, and besides... it was not the point of his request. The question was not whether he could do it, but whether I would. I recognized his move, reminded of the subtle shifts of power between myself and Belcore: less intense now than they had been in our first year as a status pair, yet still present. Never any doubt of where the balance of strength lay - it would always be mine - but rather a constant testing of boundaries, through oblique demands and elusive concessions, even as we faced the rest of our House together. 

This Mudblood learned fast - when he consented to learn at all. 

Hissing in annoyance, I did as he asked, and watched him don his robes without another word of protest. Very well, let him think he'd won this little byplay; I'd still have him decently clothed before the month was out, and I knew just the person to help with that. 

"We've missed dinner, for certain," said Tamino, slipping an arm around my waist. "Why not stay out a while longer?" And he drew me down to sit beside him under an old willow tree by the water's edge. Dumbledore Minor slowly followed, perching on a rock in front of us. 

It was a mild, moonless evening, with a last hint of summer lingering in the air, and only the small noises of the night came from the darkness beyond our wand-light. Tamino raised his head, as if listening for something more. Dumbledore Minor kept casting uneasy glances at the gates. I sighed, reaching for composure, but found myself thinking of everything at once - status implications, Switch's classroom, Belcore's glare, the parchment my father had sent me, Delacroix, Martin, and the gates ablaze with the wizarding fire - over and over again. I felt drained, yet excited - and still confused - and hungry. Definitely hungry. 

At least I was no longer seeing colors everywhere. 

"It's gone," said Tamino, echoing my thoughts. "I've had a sense of being watched, ever since we got here - but now it's gone..." 

"Lott, of course, peering at us in his scrying-bowl! Weren't you expecting it?" I settled back more comfortably against the tree, adding yet another knot to the tangle dancing in my mind. Gesius Lott couldn't have missed that performance, and would certainly draw his own conclusions from it. If he could be convinced to tolerate even the possibility of a Mudblood attempting Mastery in his own field - that Mudblood would have to conform. In _everything_ else. 

I glanced at Dumbledore Minor, who was shifting about nervously, looking at the lake, the gates, the ground - anywhere but at me. Then I banished the light of my wand with one quick word, and began his next lesson. 

"Mudblood. It is a courtesy among us, to provide light for others. We have done so for you. The word is _Lumos_. Do it, now." 

I waited. Tamino looked on, intrigued, his shoulder brushing mine, his wand still shining. One heartbeat. Another. 

_"Lumos!"_ Dumbledore Minor stared back at me by the light of his wand, and I wondered how it was possible for anyone to look so appalled and defiant over a simple _Lumos_ charm. 

No matter. He had done as I asked. 

"It's only light, no more," I said, nodding at the wand. "What you saw before - well, that was something else..." 

Then I explained to him, briefly and clearly, what had burned for him across the gates - and what it might mean; though what I said didn't amount to a tenth of my own thoughts on that point. Even as I spoke, I was reflecting on whom I would tell of this, and when - Belcore had to know, and Valery too, and my father - but not the whole House, not yet... I called my own fire for an instant, to show Dumbledore Minor the difference in colors; he flinched away from it. I sighed again, and went on. No, not our House, and not the rest of the school. The immediate question there was not whether my errant status partner was a potential Master, but whether he could stay on a broom; Dumbledore Minor would have to fly, for all to see, before I could put Martin in his place. 

I paused, trying to decide what to explain next - the Imperius Curse, or my plans for his training, or any of the myriad of other concepts he needed to know. Then I noticed that Tamino's wand-light had gone out. 

He had closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree. His face was half-shadowed, but I could make out a slight frown, and the sight touched a memory in me. How long had it been since I'd watched Tamino sleeping? In the past year, there had been a period when he'd spent as many nights in the Slytherin dungeons as in Gryffindor Tower. He never invited Valery or myself into Ravenclaw; since his family could not afford to give him his own chamber at Hogwarts, he still shared a dormitory with several other plebeians. 

"Dreaming, Carus?" 

"No... Thinking." He opened his eyes. "Pay no heed, I was feeling low - it's foolish, I know, but - oh, perhaps I've heard too much this day that I didn't want to hear..." He looked away into the night. 

A question had been nagging at me for the past hour, and I used it to divert him. 

"What were you saying, back there - about _not enough_? Can you See what passes between others within Imperius now?" 

Tamino shook his head. "I cannot. All I meant was..." His gaze flickered to the boy in front of us, then back to me. "It's not enough for him to stay because you command it. Were you seeking yet another retainer?" 

"If I ever call you that, Carus - may my own next curse strike me down!" 

"My thanks for those words..." Tamino smiled into my eyes. "But it's true nonetheless, for - you are what you are, Julius, and we also have our place, and we do as we must... I accept that. I have to. But this one?" He tilted his head, looking appraisingly at Dumbledore Minor. "He has no place." 

I thought about it. Before this, I had been too absorbed in the immediate challenges of his presence in Slytherin to consider the far future; but now I thought about it. Whatever Tamino might say, for Dumbledore Minor it would be no bad fate to become a Marvolo retainer. The wizarding world was neither welcoming nor safe for a lone Mudblood, even if he did achieve Mastery some day; in the greater game, he could never be more than a tool, or a weapon, or perhaps a prize. Better to have his loyalty secured to our line, not some other family, for he could be useful to me, and if he wished for a long life - 

"Do you know that you could live a century or more?" I asked him suddenly. From the startled look he gave me, it was apparent that no one had bothered to explain this to him either. "Yes, or perhaps half as much again - what do you say to that? The Muggles may outnumber us, but we live longer than they, and we can Heal almost any illness or injury - you'll learn to do that for yourself, if not for others - " 

That uncomprehending look again. 

"Gods, I have to start teaching him Healing at once," I muttered to Tamino, "and he doesn't even know what it is!" 

"Already?" 

"Yes." The accepted pattern at Hogwarts was for all students to learn Astronomy in their first year and Healing in their second, then choose between the two from their third year onwards. Everyone in our House chose Healing, as an essential complement to Dark Arts; I had been glad enough to leave Astronomy behind after a year - it was deathly dull, and I'd always be able to throw someone a few Sickles to read the stars for me if the need arose. 

First-year students were not expected to do more damage to themselves or each other than might be remedied by the nearest prefect or the school's Infirmary. Normal first-year students, even Slytherins, did not require a detailed knowledge of Healing. I could recall being an exception to that rule. 

"Do you remember me Healing your hurts, the day we met?" 

Dumbledore Minor nodded. 

"Well, I'd not be able to do that to a stranger, ten years hence - and neither will you." I started rolling up the left sleeve of my robes. "That is something we lose, we who work the Dark Arts - a matter of empathy, and more - in our maturity we cannot Heal others, save perhaps a few, very close to us." My father could Heal no one but me. I bared my left arm to the elbow, and raised my wand. "But we can Heal ourselves. We must. Watch closely, now." 

It took no more than a moment. One spell left my wand as a knife-blade, slicing through the flesh of my left forearm, and as I'd been trained to do, I kept my wits clear in the brief burst of pain - thinking over it and around it, speaking a charm which closed the wound almost before my blood had time to flow. Easy enough. In a duel, I would have been attacking my opponent even as I Healed myself; and some day, in a duel to the death - well, blood loss from untended wounds was hardly the most painful way to fall in a duel, but defeat was defeat. 

Dumbledore Minor leaned forward, staring at my arm. It bore no mark at all, save for a trail of blood that vanished at a touch of my wand, though the place where the wound had been still smarted. 

His eyes shone for a moment in the light from his wand. A covetous look, and one I recognized, having felt it myself - the hunger for a new skill. 

"Ooh... Can I do _that_?" 

"Indeed." I gave him a cool glance. "I'll show you how - _if_ you cease whining about magic not being _real_." 

His reply was faint, but clear. "Yes, Marvolo..." 

_Perfect_. I slid lower against the tree, resting my head on Tamino's shoulder and rubbing at my arm to ease the sting. "Got him," I whispered, feeling more than entitled to a smug smile or two at this. 

Tamino laughed softly. "As for who's got whom here - not for me to say, I'm sure... Shh, let me see to that - oh, it isn't fair, I do miss Healing - " 

"Shouldn't have dropped it," I said, watching his wand trace a path along my arm. The last ache from my spell dissipated at the touch. "You were always good." 

"But I _like_ Astronomy!" he protested. "And I need it for Potions - and Divination - and Alchemy - still, I do wish I could take both..." 

His wand moved to my forehead, across my temples, and the headache which I'd pushed to the back of my awareness faded away. I closed my eyes, savoring a sense of complete well-being for the first time since the Transfiguration class. 

Tamino's hand rested on my arm. I looked up and found him watching me, smiling slightly. 

"This night? A _request_, Julius." 

His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin where the wound had been; I seemed to feel that light, questioning touch from the roots of my hair to my toes, and it was a dozen times better than Restorative Draught. 

I raised an eyebrow at him. "And Lucan...?" 

"...really _is_ an unspeakable idiot, sometimes." 

"Mmm. So is Aulus." 

"Mmm..." Tamino sighed, then gave me a mischievous look. "And what are we, for seeking their company?" 

"Valiant? Generous? Under Imperius?" 

We laughed; then he paused, still watching me, still stroking my skin in the way that made breathing so absurdly difficult. 

"This night?" he asked again. 

"Why not, indeed?" I said, as casually as I could manage. "Should sleep elude me, you might explain some more Alchemy - " 

His indignant reply remained unspoken, for at that moment the wand-light went out. We turned, startled, as a dry branch on the ground nearby suddenly burst into flame. 

An instant earlier, I'd heard a very soft _"Incendio!"_ - and now Dumbledore Minor, wand still raised, looked back at me uncertainly in the flickering light. 

"I - I just wanted to see if it really worked," he muttered, abashed. 

"Of course it _works_, you little - Oh Hades, _Lumos!_" I scrambled to my feet and reached out a hand to Tamino. "Let's go back! I'm famished, and they'll be waiting for us in Central - " 

Tamino nodded agreement, and the three of us walked away from the lake, toward the long drive that would lead us back to the castle. I gave the gates one quick glance, remembering. 

"Are you _sure_ you've never seen the flame before?" I asked my status partner. "What about - at Ollivanders, the first time you touched that wand? Did it burn for you then?" 

He shook his head. "There were some sparks, I think..." 

"Oh, everyone gets sparks!" I paused, considering this. "But Switch - Look, Mudblood, you still haven't told me a thing about that! He must have said _something_ about why he was there - he must have spoken to you, surely - what did he say? Tell me!" 

"He said - " Dumbledore Minor stopped at the edge of the drive, fixed his eyes on the ground, and spoke in a rush. "He said I was a wizard and he was a teacher and he was looking forward to seeing me in Gryffindor and if I learned my lessons well I could be just like my brother - and then I stopped listening!" He raised his head, scowling. "I didn't want to come here, and I didn't want to be in Gryffindor, and I _never_ want to be like _him_!" Then he looked away again, and his next words were spoken so low I could barely hear them. "Rather be like you..." 

Tamino pressed my hand, and I could see he was trying his best not to laugh. 

I smiled. Even though I still didn't know what to make of all this - it certainly felt like an extra couple of points for Slytherin. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

**Notes:**

Like Chapter Four? Hate Chapter Four? Do tell me about it; I care. The email address is minervamctabby@yahoo.com.au and the LiveJournal is at http://www.livejournal.com/users/mctabby - so do tell.  
**Marvoloverse**: a list for update notifications and discussion of _Two Worlds and In Between_ and related fics. http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Marvoloverse 

**Thank you** to all who have taken the time to read the first three chapters and have waited so patiently for this one - hope you've enjoyed it! 

Huge thanks to those who have read substantial parts of Chapter 4 as it came together, and offered opinions: Catherine Cook, ColdCoffeeEyes25, Dorothy, Faith Accompli, Fidelis Haven, Frances Dormouse, Hecate, Hypatia Croaker, JOdel, Juliane, Kristina, Lev Stone, Lillith Janvier, Riley, teluekh, Vulgarweed. 

Thanks to Ayla Pascal for Niffling this fic at FictionAlley Park! I was most flattered. :) 

Special mention to Angie Astravic for reading, reviewing, considering, speculating, and generally immersing herself in the Marvoloverse to an extent that simply awes me.... angie_v12, every one of your posts on the list has been a delight - especially the "Albus Don't Duel" filk, and suggestions for how Esslin might survive. LMAO! 

Special mention to Keket, who experienced recurring technicolor dreams based on the chrysanthemum scene, featuring Switch _and_ Lott. You scare me, Keket. :) 

Gileonnen from FAP and Wendy from FFN - your reviews were... the best I've had. Wow. *blush* _Thanks!_

And everyone else who has reviewed at FFN, sent me email, dropped into my LJ, plugged TWIB around lists and boards, read TWIB for their Unexpected Task, nitpicked, asked questions, pelted me with comments, pestered me for the fourth chapter - well, the OCs and I are very, _very_ grateful. To all of you: A. Lee, Alchemine, aldalindil, Andrew Carey, Anemone, angelphish, Aurora de la Noche, Azalais Malfoy, Essy, Flourish, Gwendolyn Grace, KitLee, kkpixie, Kryssi, linkinparkchica, Little Alex, ljmimnaugh, Mark, MartianHouseCat, Mijra, Phoenix Demonia, Proserpina, queen of slytherin, Random Slytherin, richelle, Rider Riddle, RowanRhys, Sarah Black, Sharaclyz, slynxter189, Straya Luna niqui, Taliesin, Tinderblast, undauntra, VerityEmory, Weaver, WvB, Zebee Johnstone. 

Interesting new development: Gesius Lott has been slithering into other people's fics... well, he got to teluekh some time ago, as well as Keket's dreams - but now he's also mentioned in Chapter 3 of _She'll Come Back As Fire_ by VerityEmory at http://www.thedarkarts.org/authorLinks/VerityEmory and Chapter 14 of _The Serpentine Chain_ by Fidelis Haven at http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=631464 

Finally, I'm sorry the story hasn't got as far as I thought it would in this chapter. This scene by the gates and the lake wouldn't stop until it was good and ready. So - next chapter will open in Central, where Belcore and Valery are waiting for Julius. There will be more Esslin, and a brief appearance by Albus Dumbledore, and even some Peeves. See you there. :) 


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